Fault & Fracture
by halfasblind
Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings. LP
1. Say Hello, Wave Goodbye

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings. LP NH BO

A/N: I tried to do fluff, honestly, I did (for a sequel to When All Are One and One Is All). I just don't think I'm cut out for it (really it's mostly smut anyway). But then I got the idea for this little diddy. My muse apparently likes to kill people, the sadist. So, are you ready for ten more chapters of angst? Really, are you sure? BTW, no one hate on Peyton (or Lucas, for that matter). She doesn't stay like this. Swear!

—

**01. Say Hello, Wave Goodbye**

The bathroom had become his sanctuary over the past few days, where he went to get away from the crying and the yelling and the blame that was laid upon his shoulders. At times it felt as if the walls were closing in, like he was suffocating, but that was better than the alternative—being out there. In her vicinity.

He couldn't endure the way she looked at him any longer. The hurt in her eyes. It wasn't his fault, it wasn't anyone's fault, but she didn't understand that, she couldn't comprehend it. She couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings.

His eyes roamed over the pictures taped to the mirror: Peyton, their kids… He was trying to be brave, trying to remain standing but it was so damn hard. He needed… he needed _her_. He needed to take comfort in her, but she wanted nothing to do with him. Every word she spoke to him was like an accusation, every look a measuring of his next move.

That's why he was here, in the bathroom—he was hiding. A cowardly move, to be sure. He could've left the house altogether, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. They were all hurting and as soon as Peyton got through today, everything would be back to normal. She'd need her time to grieve and he'd give it to her, but they could bounce back from this—they had to.

With shaking hands, Lucas attempted to fasten his tie. It was a futile effort, however. After a few more attempts, he gave up altogether, throwing the piece of silk down on the countertop. Lifting his eyes to the mirror, he stared at his reflection, his bloodshot eyes, the dark circles that bespoke his restless nights.

Closing the toilet lid, he sat down, dropping his head into his hands. How was he going to get through the day? How was he going to stand beside Peyton, attempt to comfort her when she couldn't bear to talk to him, much less look at him? The tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away. He would not fall apart now, not yet. No, he had to be strong until the funeral. Then, he'd fall apart. Only then.

Hearing the bathroom door open, he lifted his head, finding Peyton standing in the doorway. She was dressed all in black, her hair pulled back from her face in one of those messy French twists, a few wisps hanging loosely around her face. She looked radiant, despite her sallow complexion, her own dark circles. "Are you ready?" she asked, her tone surprisingly pleasant. "Where's your tie?"

He pointed to the countertop and as he stood up, she swiped up the tie. Crossing to him, she bid him to lift his collar. "I couldn't do it myself," he told her as if it wasn't obvious. "How are you?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back so that she didn't see them shake.

Her eyes met his, hard and cold. "I'm swell, Lucas," she snapped.

So much for his hope of today being better than yesterday. Sighing, he said, "Are we really going to do this today, of all days?"

Peyton finished fastening his tie, then stepped back, saying, "I have to go see to the kids." She left the bathroom without another word.

He left the bathroom, returning to his bedroom. He grabbed his coat off its hanger behind the door and pulled it on. As he made his way downstairs to join his family, he thought that he was losing his wife,—just as he'd lost his son.

She was simply going through the motions, had been for days. People kept calling and dropping by the house to offer their condolences on her loss and all she longed to do was tell them to fuck off and go away. Hell, she had done precisely that to her husband. If anyone deserved her animosity, it was Lucas. After all, they wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. If it wasn't for him, their son would still be alive, they wouldn't be burying him. They wouldn't say to say goodbye.

"Are you alright?" She looked at Derek, glad that he'd been able to come for the funeral. As she began to shake her head to assure him that she was fine, her legs gave in and she fell into his arms. Efficiently, he set her in a chair, barking orders for a glass of water to whomever was closest to the kitchen. Moments later he was pressing a glass to her lips, insisting that she drink.

"I'm okay. Honest."

"Have you been eating?" At her averted gaze, he chastised, "Peyton!"

She pushed the glass of water into his hand, shuffling to her feet. As she walked away, she felt his scowl at her back. "I don't need your criticisms, Derek. I get them enough from Lucas, thank you very much."

Peyton weaved her way through the people milling about before the funeral service, some she recognized, others she didn't. All of them came to pay their respects. Why? She didn't understand. They didn't know or love Christopher. She didn't see the point. Yet, despite her grief, she appreciated it.

Entering the room where her son lay peaceful in his casket, she found her friends gathered, staring down at him. The funeral director had insisted on closing it, but she refused. She wanted to see his angelic face for as long as she could, caress his puffy little cheek, touch his soft blonde hair. They would be her last moments with him and she refused to squander them because some stuffy old broad told her that it wasn't proper.

She had hoped to have a few moments alone with him, but now that everyone else is here, that hope quickly dissipated. She noticed that Haley and Brooke were standing on either side of Lucas, giving him the consolation that she couldn't—wouldn't. She remained at the doors, watching the interaction between them all, how each woman hugged him, offered her condolences, reminded him that none of what had transpired was his fault. She yearned to say otherwise, but this wasn't the time or place. She was saying goodbye to her baby today, something that no mother should have to do.

She joined her friends and her husband, sidling up next to him to maintain the pretense that things were as they should be, that she didn't blame him for Christopher's death. "Hey everyone."

Brooke wiped her eyes, moving to her side, taking her hand. "He looks peaceful, Peyton. Like a little angel."

Peyton had to tamp down the urge to slap her best friend. She wanted to snap that he looked peaceful in his sleep, too, that he had died that way, of course he looked peaceful, but somehow managed to curb the impulse. Whatever comments anyone made were going to be the wrong ones. She didn't want to bury her son. She wanted to close her eyes and for this to be nothing more than a dream—a horrible, skin crawling nightmare. She pinched herself on the off chance that maybe… just maybe…

No. That was wishful thinking; this was her reality. Within the hour she'd be saying goodbye to her son, watching his body disappear six feet into the ground. She didn't know how she was going to bear it, how she was going to bear going home seeing reminders of him everywhere…

Around her they talked of Christopher's cute little outfit, the color of his casket, the artwork from his siblings—

"Where are the children?" she asked Lucas. Was he going to be neglectful of them as well? Was one not enough to lose?

Surprisingly, Lucas answered her himself. "My mother took them across the street for something to eat."

He stared at her, obviously waiting for her to say something cutting. "That was thoughtful of her." He flashed her a small smile that managed to squelch her anger for a few moments.

As people began to pour into the room to take their seats for the service, Peyton moved away from her husband's side, choosing to greet people, accept condolences and polite respects. It kept her far away from her husband since she wasn't ready to forgive and forget. She doubted she ever would be.

If it hadn't been for Haley's constant presence, Lucas would've lost his head as the funeral went on. She'd held him tightly as the casket was closed and his son was placed in the hearse. At the cemetery he'd stood with her hanging on his arm long after the crowd had dissipated. Even Peyton had disappeared, no doubt not wanting to share Christopher with him.

"He's in a better place now, Luke," Haley whispered, nudging his arm, trying to get him to move. He stayed precisely where he was, eyes locked on the casket, on his son.

"I should've checked up on him. I could've—"

"No," she said sternly. "Luke, you can't do this to yourself. There was nothing to do. You nor Peyton was to blame for his death."

He scoffed. "If you ask her, I'd bet she'd say differently."

She'd known Lucas her entire life, knew him better than anyone else so she knew when something was wrong with him. Wrong beyond him having just buried his seven-month old son. Haley gestured to the chairs behind them. "You've been so reserved these last few days. Tell me what's going on. How are things with you and Peyton? I picked up on a little hostility between the two of you."

Peyton was the last thing he wanted to discuss at the moment. However, Haley would not relent until she had the truth out of him. "It's not good, Haley. We haven't spoken two nice words to one another since this has happened. I know it's affected her more—after all she carried him for nine months. I just hate that all the blame is heaped upon me."

"You lost him, too. She'll remember that."

Lucas shook his head. "I don't think so. I really don't think we're going to come back from this."

"Of course you will. You're Lucas and Peyton for Pete's sake."

"At least someone's being optimistic," he said, attempting to be cavalier. "She just… the way she looks at me… it's like I'm this huge disappointment. A murderer. I don't think I'm strong enough to endure losing her, too."

Taking his hand in hers, she squeezed it softly, at a loss for words. There was nothing she could say to comfort him, she didn't know the intricacies of his marriage, what had happened since the death of Christopher. Lucas and Peyton were a little addled right now, but they loved one another. They would work things out. She had to believe that enough for the both of them.

The day after Christopher's funeral, Peyton took the kids and went to visit her dad. She told him that she needed to get out of the house, that there were far too many memories of Christopher, that the memories were suffocating her. But he knew the truth—she wanted to get away from him.

His first night alone, he drank. He sat on the back steps of the house, Christopher's favorite plush toy duck in his lap, and drank, not stopping until the bottle was empty and he was completely numb. The next day he spent it abed, recovering from his drunkenness, then he started the process all over.

After Peyton had been gone a week, he left, too. He drove up to Charlotte, seeking shelter with his mom. She told him to be patient with Peyton, that losing a child was not an easy thing to cope with, that she'd forgive him sooner or later. She gave him hope, something that had begun to slip from his grasp since the funeral.

She cooked and fussed over him and it was nice to see his mother nice and happy, settled in a comfortable life with Andy and Lily. Until recently they had traveled around, not eager to put down roots anywhere. But as Lily had gotten older, she had longed for some permanence. So, Andy had secured a job in Charlotte and they were content there.

Three days later, Peyton called him to inform him that she'd returned home. They didn't speak long, long enough for him to ask about the kids and if they enjoyed their visit with her dad. She seemed calmer, almost compliant. Maybe his mom was right, that she'd forgive him eventually. Then again there was still that niggling shred of doubt that he just couldn't concede with.

He waited two days before he returned home himself. As he parked in the driveway beside Peyton's SUV, he hoped that things would be different, that together they would deal with their loss—that she would stop blaming Christopher's death on him.

Inside the house, it was quiet. He found the kids settled in front of the television, watching _Shrek_. "Where's mom?" he asked, dropping kisses to the both of their blonde heads.

"Upstairs," the oldest, Becca, informed him. "Putting Dillon down for a nap."

"How was Grandpa's?"

"Boring," the two of them said in unison. Gillian turned around to face him. "Mom cried a lot while we were there."

Becca smacked her arm. "You weren't supposed to tell him!"

"Ow!" Gillian exclaimed, hitting her sister in kind. "Don't hit me!"

"Hey, hey," Lucas intervened. "That's enough." He looked from one daughter to the other. "Did your mom tell you to lie?" They hesitated and it was all the answer he needed. As he quit the room he said over his shoulder, "No more hitting."

"How does he do that?" Becca hissed to Gilly, arm suspended mid-air.

"He's Daddy," Gilly said as Becca dropped her hand to her lap and they resumed watching the movie.

Upstairs, Lucas stopped in the nursery to look in on Dillon before seeking Peyton out. He touched his hand to his son's head, placing his favorite monkey at his side. After leaning over the railing to kiss Dillon's cheek, he crossed the hall to his room, finding Peyton standing at the window. "You're back."

She turned to look at him then, looking much like the girl he had fallen in love with back in high school, her clothes splattered with dried paint, her hair gathered in a ponytail at the back of her head. It made her look so much younger, reminding him of earlier times, happier times.

He stayed where he was, his only movement to cross his arms and lean against the doorjamb. "You can't run away from your problems. They're still there when you get home." He didn't know what made him say it since the last thing he wanted to do was fight with her, but something made him want to strike back at her.

Peyton had no cunning reply, she just turned back to the window to stare outside. He wondered what she found so compelling out there. "I thought I would come back and it wouldn't hurt so much, that I wouldn't still hear him, see him, feel him. I'd hoped that I could come back and start picking up the pieces." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "All that's left is pieces, Lucas. I don't even feel like a whole person anymore. I feel… I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and I don't know… I just don't know."

Her voice broke and he took a step toward her, but she stopped him with a firm, "Don't." When she turned to him again, her face was streaked with tears. "You can't. _I_ can't." Four words and yet they expressed so much, words that she couldn't say, words that he couldn't bear to hear.

"You know I would've saved him."

She nodded her head. "I know that. I do. I know that you loved him, Lucas. I know that if you could've saved him, you would have given your own life for his. I know that. My mind is telling me that it wasn't your fault, that neither one of us is to blame. But my heart? My heart is saying something else."

She loved him, she loved him with all her heart, but every time she looked at him, she remembered that morning that they'd discovered Christopher cold and lifeless in his crib. She'd been so distraught that she'd slapped him, right in front of her children. Becca and Gilly had run into the room, had watched with wide eyes as she'd taken her anguish out on their father. Her emotions had gotten the better of her that morning and she was so ashamed for reacting as she had. But then other emotions took over. Anger, resentment. Lucas had told Becca and Gilly about Christopher, like it was his loss alone. She'd hated him for that.

"What can I do?"

Peyton stared at him, wondering how he was being so calm. Why was he not crying? Why was he not fighting? If he loved her, if he wanted to save their marriage, he should be doing something other than standing there asking her what he could do. What he could do was tell her that he was sorry. What he could do was tell her that it would stop hurting, that her heart would mend in time. What he could do was bring their baby back. But she didn't tell him to do any of things. Instead she told him, "You can leave."

Lucas couldn't say he was surprised. He'd been anticipating something to that effect, though he couldn't really say that he was hoping for this exactly. What surprised him most was that she was crying as she was expressing her desire for him to get the hell out of dodge. He refused to beg her to let him stay—he would not grovel. If she wanted him out, there wasn't anything he could say to change her mind. "If that's what you want."

"It is." Walking to the closet, she opened the double doors, reaching for the suitcase that she had packed for him. She wheeled it to where he was standing. "That's pretty much everything."

"My, aren't we prepared." His words weren't accusing, just fact.

She merely inclined her head in agreement. "We'll work something out for you to spend time with the kids."

"At least you're not planning to keep them from me. I can be relieved for that."

Lucas grabbed the handle of his suitcase, turning for the door. Then, he paused. He didn't look her—he couldn't. "I'm sorry, Peyton. I'm sorry for Chris and I'm sorry for us. I wish… well anyway. Call me whenever I can see the kids."

She stood at the window, watching as he backed out of the driveway. She thought maybe she'd cry, yell, maybe even scream. But she did none of things. She just crossed into Dillon's room who had awoken when Lucas had slammed the door and abandoned their marriage.


	2. What Became Our Bitter End

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings. LP NH BO

—

**02. What Became Our Bitter End**

Lucas woke from his dream, jolting awake with a start, his heart hammering against his chest from the exertion. That damn dream again. The one that had been haunting him every night since Christopher's death. In it, Christopher would cry out and Lucas would attempt to go to him, only to never make it—the room would move farther and farther out of his grasp, making it impossible to save his son. Which was exactly what the paramedics and authorities had told him and Peyton—it would've been impossible for them to have done anything to save Christopher.

Looking up, Lucas found Jamie and Bethany leaning over the sofa, peering down at him with curious eyes. No doubt they were wondering what the hell he was doing there and not at his house.

"What is Unca Lucas doing here?" Bethany inquired of her brother, talking around the thumb that was always in her mouth.

"What does it look like, Bethy? He's sleeping." Jamie paused, adding, "Well, he _was_." He scowled at his sister, as if it had been her and her alone peering at Lucas as if he was a circus attraction.

Lucas forced himself into a sitting position. "What are you rug rats doing? Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?"

"Shouldn't you be at home?" Jamie shot back. He didn't wait for Lucas to answer, snarking, "Besides, it's Saturday, Uncle Luke." Luke watched as he hopped over the sofa, snatching up the remote amid his sister's protests of: "No, Jamie, it's my turn for this TV!"

As the two started to play tug of war with the remote control, Lucas slid off the sofa, taking himself off to the kitchen. _Ah, adults_, he thought spying Nathan and Haley seated at the table.

"Did they wake you up?" Haley asked as he made a beeline for the coffee pot.

Lucas threw her a look over his shoulder. "They're fighting for the remote. Though I think Jamie's got the advantage."

With his head buried behind a newspaper, Nathan yelled, "Jamie give your sister the remote!"

"But Dad… she's just going to watch cartoons!" Jamie yelled from the living room.

"And you're just going to watch ESPN!" Bethy shouted back. "DADDY!"

"Go watch TV in your room, Jamie!" Nathan shouted, wishing that, just for once, his son would listen. Silence ensued for a few moments but was upended later by the slamming of Jamie's bedroom door. Nathan looked over at Lucas, grinning. "Aren't you glad you came here instead of a hotel?"

"Immensely."

As Lucas turned toward the two of them, Haley inquired, "So, you gonna tell us why you made use of your spare key and camped out on our sofa?"

Lucas stared down into his coffee cup, debating the best way to avoid answering Haley's question. Then, he just sighed in defeat. What was the point? The two of them would find out eventually. "Peyton kicked me out."

"What?" Haley demanded, standing up abruptly. "Luke, are you okay?"

Lucas held up a stand to stop her as she started for him, relieved when she dropped back into her chair. "I'm fine. I mean… I'm okay—really. It's just…" He looked down into the dark liquid of his coffee cup. "I can barely fathom losing Christopher and now there's this whole situation with Peyton to contend with."

"You said that things were strained but I never thought…" Haley said, distracted.

"Neither did I." Lucas brought his coffee cup to his mouth, aware that Nathan and Haley were exchanging knowing glances between one another. "I just need to borrow your sofa for a few days, until I figure out what I'm going to do."

"Do you want me to talk to her?" Haley suggested, silently hoping that Lucas would give her the chance. Maybe if she and Brooke teamed up they could get through to her, make her see that pushing Lucas away wasn't going to help assuage her grief. Unfortunately Lucas acted as she presumed he would, completely rejecting her offer of help.

"No! Just… I think she needs space, is all. You know, Peyton. She deals with grief solitarily. She just needs time alone."

Haley looked over at Nathan who took the words right out of her mouth: "Do you really believe that?"

Lucas scoffed. "No, but if don't I have to admit to myself that my marriage is over and I'm just not ready to do that."

Brooke rang the doorbell, tapping her foot anxiously as she waited for someone to answer the door. She knew damn well that Peyton was home, her SUV was in the driveway and she could hear the TV blaring from outside.

Peyton hadn't answered any of her phone calls or emails in days—she was worried. It was unlike Peyton to turn off her phone and not to return an email. Even when she was pissed off something fierce at Brooke, she would send her an email, even if her sole purpose was to curse Brooke out, thus enraging her further.

Since Christopher's death Peyton had been withdrawn and distant. Most especially with Lucas. Not that she was beaming smiles and rays of sunshine with the rest of them. She was cold and bitter with Lucas, something that she never was with any of them. It was understandable after such a tragedy and it was so like Peyton to disappear into herself and not allow anyone close enough to help her.

Brooke was poised to ring the doorbell for the umpteenth time when the door swung wide, Becca and Gilly standing there in their pajamas, looking up at her with twin expressions of annoyance. "Hi Aunt Brooke," they said in unison in that eerie way of theirs—she thought only twins did that.

"Where's your Mom?" she demanded.

The two girls exchanged a look, then Becca said, "She said to tell you that she isn't up for visitors today. But thanks for stopping by."

Becca attempted to close the door in her face, but Brooke slapped her hand on the glass, pushing it wide. "What about your dad? When's he going to be back?" Again, the girls exchanged a look. "Oh, God, what now?"

Becca worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "We haven't seen him."

"What do you mean you haven't seen him? He lives here—how can you not have seen him?" Something told her that she was not going to like the answer to her question.

Gilly answered her boldly: "Daddy left."

"Left?" she echoed. Certainly they'd misunderstood. Because Lucas would not leave Peyton. Or his children. Lucas Scott was a standup guy—he just would _not_.

Becca nodded in agreement. "A few days ago. He told us that he'd see us soon, but that Mommy was real sad about Christopher and that he couldn't stay with us anymore."

_My God._ Lucas had left Peyton? No, she couldn't believe it—she couldn't believe that Lucas would abandon his marriage, his children. She looked from Becca to Gilly and back again. "Well, has he called you girls? Do you know where he went?" They shook their heads. "Okay. Run back inside." As Becca was closing the door, she added, "And don't… don't tell your mom we had this little talk."

After the door closed, she heard Gilly remark to her sister, "We have to keep _another_ secret?"

"Grownups are dunderheads, Gilly," her sister replied.

Brooke chuckled to herself as she pulled out her cell phone, mumbling to herself as she scrolled through her contact list for Luke's number. She waited a few moments for the call to connect and when the other end was picked up, she barked into the phone, "Where are you?" She paused as she received an answer and then: "Why the hell did you leave your wife?"

Lucas had just received his tea from the waitress and was about to take a sip when Brooke fell into the chair across from him. "I cannot believe you!" she spat angrily. "I can't believe that you would ditch your wife—_your children_—when they need you the most. For God's sake, Lucas, you just buried your son and now you're turning your back on your marriage—your wife? Have you no care for Peyton's feelings? For your _children's_?"

Lucas stared at her mutely. Well. _Hello to you, too, Brooke._ Swiping at the condensation around his glass, he asked calmly, "Have you talked to Peyton?"

"Well… no. I gleaned what happened from Becca and Gilly—"

Ah. Always the tattletales, his girls. He smiled fondly just thinking about them; he missed them. He tried not to dwell on that fact too much. Instead, Lucas forced himself to concentrate on Brooke and the situation at hand. He didn't want to knock her from her high horse, but he wasn't going to let her go on scolding him for something that wasn't his fault—at least, not entirely. He had to face facts: he had left. It had been his only recourse, for both his and Peyton's sanity, the sake of their marriage. That's what he'd come to tell himself, at any rate. "I didn't leave, Brooke. I turn my back on Peyton, on my children or my marriage. Contrary to what you obviously think of me, Peyton kicked me out."

Her anger at him dissipated with one simple word: "Oh."

"I know you're her best friend and that your loyalties lie with her, but she wanted me to leave, so I left. There was no fussing, no fighting. She packed my bag, I said goodbye to my girls and I… and I left." Saying goodbye to Becca and Gilly had been so hard. They'd assured him that they understood, but they couldn't, not really. How could they when he wasn't sure that he even did?

Brooke stared across the table at him, aghast. It wasn't like Lucas to just throw in the towel and be done with it. Lucas fought tooth and nail for what he wanted. It was unconceivable to her that he didn't fight for Peyton. "I find it hard to believe that you didn't fight for her, Lucas. This is Peyton we're talking about. Your wife. The love of your life."

"You know how Peyton is once her mind is made up. She wanted me out, so I tucked my tail between my legs and did as she bid." He glared at her. "But thanks for the vote of confidence regarding _my_ loyalties."

Brooke blushed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." She stopped talking when the waitress returned to take her drink order. After the girl bustled away to get her Diet Coke, she told Lucas, "Haley mentioned that Peyton was taking Christopher's death harder than she was letting on and that she was taking all of her frustration out on you. I just never realized…" Brooke trailed off, her thoughts awhirl.

Lucas shrugged nonchalantly. It was the burden of being the husband—coping with the bad along with the good. During their eight years of marriage, things had mostly been good. There'd been a few bad days, most of them during Peyton's four pregnancies, but normally she was calm and collected. Happy. He'd taken those days for granted. He'd give anything to have Peyton welcome him back into her arms, flash him one of her flirty smiles. He'd give his life in exchange for Christopher's, if it would make Peyton happy again.

"She's mourning, Brooke. I know what she's going through—"

"But the two of you should be mourning, grieving together, Lucas. You both lost Christopher. It's not fair that you can't lean on each other."

"I know," he said in a small voice, tears threatening to break his calm exterior. Clearing his throat to combat the lump in his throat, he said, "I'm perfectly content with waiting her out."

"Do you think that's all there is to this—just waiting her out?" Brooke silently hoped for his sake that was all there was to it. She wanted to see Lucas and Peyton work out their differences and cope with losing Christopher together. It was stupid for two people who were so in love to let such a tragedy destroy them. It made her want to go home, have Owen wrap her in his arms and make him promise her that no matter what, he would never leave her—even if she told him to.

"I'd like to hope so," he said, refusing to give himself and his infernal hopes away. It didn't bear contemplating what would happen were Peyton never to forgive him. "I've only been gone a few days and already I miss my kids like mad. I hate being away from them. Leaving… I know it was best, but was it best for them?" He leaned back in his chair, completely unaware that he had been leaning forward with every word he spoke. "I thought it best to leave Peyton to her grief, to deal with Christopher's death in her own way, but afterward… afterward I thought of Becca and Gilly and Dillon. How my leaving would affect them."

Brooke heard the longing in his voice, could tell how much he was missing his kids, regretting his decision to leave. Reaching across the tabletop, she covered his hand with hers. "You're a good dad, Luke."

He smiled bitterly, squeezing her hand. "Tell that to Peyton."

"I will. Repeatedly. I'll remind her what a catch you are," she told him as the waitress returned with her coke, setting it down in front of her. She inquired if they were ready to order, but they both shook their heads. They hadn't come to eat.

"You think she forgot?" Lucas asked her once the waitress walked away.

Brooke held his gaze for a moment, then shook her head slowly. "No. That's something she wouldn't forget."

"Come on, you guys, it can't be that bad," Peyton said as the girls pushed their food around their plates. She wasn't the culinary expert that Lucas was, or the dinner companion, either, but she was putting forth an effort at least. She had to. Though Christopher was lost to her now, she had these three and she was going to make it through for them.

Becca dropped her hands into her lap. "Daddy's not here to tell us to eat the broccoli." Becca looked at Gilly who had the same blank, bereaved expression on her face—Gilly nodded along her agreement.

"Eat your broccoli." Peyton didn't know what else to say. She hadn't even contemplated how kicking Lucas out would affect her kids. She was only thinking of herself, her own peace of mind, her own heartache. Never before had she put herself before her children—having done so now, she felt absolutely wretched. "You guys miss him, huh?"

The girls nodded in unison. "When can we see him?"

It hadn't even been a week already, but she guessed that it was just going to take some getting accustomed to. After all, Lucas had never been away from them overnight—book tours notwithstanding. And even then the girls were in constant contact with him—emails, texts, phone conversations, video chats. Lucas loved them wholeheartedly.

"Da!" Dillion said, pounding on the tray of his high chair, adding his own opinion on the matter.

"All right, I get it," Peyton conceded. "We'll call your dad." She was met with happy smiles from Becca and Gilly and clapping from Dillon. "But not until after we eat."

The kids ate (however, not the broccoli) and chattered all throughout their meal, eager to get finished to call their dad. After the dishes were loaded in the dishwasher and the leftovers tucked away in the refrigerator, she met her children in the living room where they were anxiously awaiting her. The girls were spread out on the carpet with a puzzle, Dillon laying upside down on the sofa singing "Old McDonald Had a Farm."

Tickling Dillon's belly, he shot upright with a giggle. She pulled him onto her lap, Becca and Gilly following a moment later, settling down on each side of her. It wasn't until after they were still and quiet that she picked up the phone and dialed Luke's cell.

He picked up after the fourth ring, his voice much deeper and raspier than she remembered. It seemed like that was one of things she shouldn't be able to forget.  
"Hey, it's me."

A moment of silence. "Hello, Peyton."

There was an edge to his voice now, an edge that wasn't there before, she noted. Well she didn't really want to talk to him either, but she wasn't calling for her, she was calling in behalf of their children. She dismissed the reminder from her conscience that she could've let Becca or Gilly dial Luke's number and avoided this whole awkward exchange. A part of her had wanted to hear his voice. The part that wasn't blinded by black rage and twisted resentment.

"Hi. How… um, how are you?"

"I'm okay. How are the kids? Is everything all right?" he asked, suddenly alarmed.

Peyton noted that he didn't ask how _she_ was. She masked her disappointment that her welfare was no longer important to her husband. She dived right into her reason for calling, the niceties having gotten her nowhere. "The kids are fine. They miss you and they want to see you."

"I want to see them, too."

"Good. How about Friday? You could pick them up from school and spend the afternoon with them," she suggested.

"Okay."

Peyton smiled at her daughters, the two of them whispering to each other, obviously excited at the prospect of spending an entire afternoon with their father. "You'll have to pick up Dillon at TRIC—"

"That's okay, I don't mind."

"Great. Good. Well… would you like to talk to the girls?" She looked at her daughters whose faces had lit up like Christmas trees. Becca held out her hand first. "Here's Becca." She sat, cradling Dillon against her chest as first Becca then Gilly told Lucas about the goings on in their lives since he'd left. At the end of their conversations, when they both expressed how much they missed him, her heart nearly broke. She may have told him to go, but he could've fought her. He could have insisted that the kids needed him, that _she_ needed him. Instead, he chose to leave and therefore, in her already fractured heart, abandoned her in her time of need.

When the girls were finished talking to their dad, she sent them upstairs, urging them to get ready for bed. After the girls were out of earshot, she pressed the phone to her ear. "Luke… ?"

"I'm still here."

She smiled a little at that. "I didn't know if you'd hung up or what. You know how Gilly is with the—"

"—phone," he hastily finished. "I know. Did you need something else?"

Peyton felt his rejection, straight to her toes. She tried to tell herself that it didn't matter how he treated her, that she didn't care, but they were lies. It did matter and she did care. Though, it'd be easier if it didn't matter, if she didn't care. "How are you?"

She was met with silence and for a few moments she despaired of him ever answering her. He surprised her when he said, "I've been better." She wanted to ask where he was, but she thought better of it. "And you?"

That angered her. He should know how she was. She'd buried her son and lost her husband within weeks of each other. She was just _dandy_. She didn't know what to do or say so instead she just hung up.

And she wasn't the least bit surprised that Lucas didn't call her back.


	3. Memories That Fade Like Photographs

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings.

A/N: Nothing says HAPPY THANKSGIVING like angst and frustration, no? I just wanted to thank everyone who left positive reviews about this story. I had debated posting it all because it's so dark. And Peyton is very dark, very angry and much unlike herself. Someone commented on the last chapter that she's very OOC. Which, I admit, she is. Grief does strange things to a person and until you've lost a child, you don't know how you'll react. She's turning herself inward, pushing everyone away who matters to guard herself, her heart. However, this chapter lays the groundwork to Peyton getting herself together. Unfortunately, this will probably be the last update until the middle of December, until after finals. Enjoy and know that I appreciate all your reviews, comments and criticisms.

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**03. Memories That Fade Like Photographs**

Nervously, Lucas drummed his fingers on his steering wheel as he stared at TRIC through his tinted windshield. Already fifteen minutes late, he could not make himself open the door and get out; his feet were inexplicably stuck on the cloth floor mats. Truthfully, he was dreading having to walk inside TRIC and go to Peyton's office. He was afraid of what they would say, or worse—what they wouldn't.

He knew he couldn't remain sitting in his car forever. He wanted to see his kids. And to do that, he had to get out of the damn car and confront their mother. With a deep sigh, he turned off the car, pushed open his door and stepped out.

While he tramped across the parking lot he thought of their last conversation, when she'd called to arrange for him to see the kids. After he'd talked to Becca and Gilly he and Peyton had attempted to have a conversation amongst themselves. He had asked a simple question—how she was—and somehow it had all spiraled downward, ending in her hanging up on him.

He didn't know how this was going to work, this co-parenting thing. Especially when it seemed that everything he said was wrong, everything he did wasn't good enough.

Entering TRIC, he found a decent crowd inside. They must be estranged from their wives, too, he mused, driven to drink because they had married an impossible female. He wouldn't mind drowning his own sorrows in a glass of whiskey himself. But, first things first.

Peyton was sitting at her desk, staring into space, tapping a pen on her desk. Dillon, meanwhile, was sitting in his playpen, amusing himself by shaking his sippy cup, marveling as juice dripped from the spout onto the litter of stuffed animals surrounding him.

"Da! Da!" he exclaimed, when he spotted Lucas in the doorway. Shuffling to his feet, he extended his arms and began jumping up in his eagerness to be plucked from his confines.

Lucas scooped Dillon into his arms, hugging him tightly against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Gosh, he'd missed _this_. He looked over at Peyton as she stood up from her chair. She wrung her hands nervously, he noticed. "You made it."

His eyebrow shot up sardonically. "Did you think I wouldn't show?"

"Well… no."

Annoyed that she didn't say more when it was evident that she wanted to, Lucas asked, "Do you have his things?"

Peyton reached onto the floor for Dillon's diaper bag. As she brought it to him, she cleared her throat and said, "So, um, I've heard you've been at Nathan and Haley's."

He glared at her over the top of Dillon's head. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I have." After a beat, he felt compelled to add, "It's only temporary."

"Only temporary?" she repeated. Where else was he going to go, she wondered. There was always Karen in Charlotte, but he wouldn't move that far from his kids… would he?

Lucas took the bag from her, reaching down into the playpen to pick up Dillon's sippy cup. Turning to her, he said, "You don't have to worry, I won't be begging you to let me come home."

She frowned, quickly saying, "I didn't—"

"Doesn't matter," he said curtly, cutting her off. "I'll have them home tonight."

Mutely, she nodded, watching Lucas walk out of her office with Dillon in his arms, safe and content. She just hoped he stayed that way.

"Give me the spoon, Owen," Brooke demanded of her husband, watching as he shoved spoonful after spoonful of peas into their daughter's mouth, most of which wound up on the lacy (not to mention _extremely expensive_) white dress that Brooke had bought in New York. She had to kiss a lot of ass to get Vera to make something that small!

Owen held the spoon out of her reach. "I'm feeding her."

Brooke shook her head, her finger, anything to tamp down the urge to wring his neck or smack that grin off his face. "No, what you're doing is making a mess. With peas!"

"Peas are good for her. Healthy."

Brooke huffed, counting to herself, an action that was an everyday occurrence when dealing with her husband. Then, as if she wasn't enraged enough at him already, he started talking to the baby in gibberish, prompting Brooke to smack him upside the head. "Ouch. Why do you hit me every time I talk to Bee?"

"I told you not to talk to her in the ooey gooey mushy baby voice. It's embarrassing. And don't call her Bee."

Bianca smiled at him, reaching for the spoon herself. "See?" Owen pointed to his daughter. "She likes it."

"She's ten months old. She doesn't know any better." Brooke reached for the spoon the exact moment that Owen dipped it back into the bowl. The contents flew—all over Bianca.

Owen glowered at his wife as Bianca began wailing. "Look what you did."

"You made me do it, you ape," she told him as the doorbell rang.

"You answer the door I'll clean up Bee—" Brooke scowled. "—Bianca. Happy?"

"Not even close." She headed for the door as Owen lifted Bianca from her highchair and disappeared down the hall with her. Pulling open the front door, she found Peyton standing on the stoop, gnawing on her fingernails. "Peyton?" She pushed the screen door wide. "What are you doing here?"

"Lucas has the kids for the afternoon and I didn't know what to do, where to go. I wound up here." She glanced past Brooke into the house. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not on anything important. Unless the murder of my husband qualifies as important." Brooke waved her in. "Well, come on." As Peyton passed her, she inquired if everything was alright. "It's fine," Brooke insisted. "Owen and I were arguing over the way he feeds Bianca."

Peyton grinned at her friend. "There's a wrong way to feed her?"

"Of course not. There's just a Brooke way and an Owen way. He insists on the Owen way, which, coincidentally is the wrong way." Brooke smiled broadly, winking at Peyton.

"I heard that!" Owen bellowed from down the hall.

"Mind your ears!" Brooke yelled back at him. To Peyton, she said, "He's so nosy."

"I'm not deaf, Brooke."

Brooke held up her index finger. "Hold on one second." She marched down the hallway to the guest bathroom where Owen was leaning against the lavatory watching Bianca splash in the water after her rubber ducky. "What's your problem? We have a _guest_."

"Our guest is Peyton, not the Queen." Owen straightened to his full height, crossing the bathroom until he was nose-to-nose with his wife. "And my problem, _darlin'_, is that you've been Little Miss Fussy Pants since you got back from New York." Owen gestured above his head with the flat of his head. "And I've had it up to here with you. You make me wanna throw you out a window." Owen watched with glee as he rendered her speechless, her mouth opening and closing, all fishlike. Amusing, that.

She softened then, sinking into his arms, hands gripping fistfuls of his sweet pea splattered t-shirt. "I'm sorry I've been uberbitch. You know the flights and dealing with Victoria make me grumpy. Forgive me?"

"Depends. What's in it for me?"

Brooke blushed as Owen's voice took on that deep, raspy note that always got her blood pumping. She got up on her tiptoes, fusing her mouth to his. The kiss didn't last long, much to Owen's disappointment. "Better?" she asked, lifting a brow almost encouraging him to say no.

"It'll do," he admonished. "For now." But then a second later, she was in his arms again, her fingers in his hair, her tongue in his mouth. And he couldn't bear to remind her that she had a guest.

From the kitchen Peyton could hear Brooke's laughter from the bathroom, the deep timbre of Owen's voice as they spoke, then the unmistakable sound of kissing. Her heart swelled in her chest for her best friend's happiness, but ached for the loss of her own. Seeing Lucas today, confronting the hatred in his eyes, nearly undid her. It had left her uneasy and confused. Which had led her here. Not that she intended to burden Brooke with all of her problems.

Brooke breezed back into the kitchen a few moments later, flushed and beaming. "Sorry about that. I haven't been back long from New York and apparently I was still wearing my CEO boots."

"Everything okay?" Peyton asked as Brooke gingerly touched her lips with her fingers, nodding vigorously. Clearing her throat, she eagerly changed the subject. "How was New York?" She sometimes forgot that Brooke went to New York every two weeks. Then again, lately, she'd been forgetting a lot.

"I had to see my mother. How do you think it was?"

"Awful," Peyton guessed. Brooke wasn't keen on having her mother for a partner, but her hands were tied. For a time, she had attempted to start a separate line, sell the whole of Clothes Over Bros to her mother, but somehow they'd come to an understanding. They still didn't get along, however.

"You got it," Brooke answered with a flourish of her hand. Together, they settled at the table, Brooke gazing over at Peyton with concern. "Now, how are you doing?"

Peyton appreciated Brooke's concern. She heaved a sigh, answering, "I'm okay. Getting better, I think." She no longer wanted to kick Lucas whenever they were in the same room so that was progress.

"And you and Luke? Are things still…?"

Peyton had made it a rule recently not to discuss her and Luke's separation with their friends. Brooke and Haley were both in Luke's camp, a fact that didn't bother her as much as she expected it to. Despite that, it didn't stop them from showing compassion to her plight. "It's… not great. We talked on the phone a few nights ago to arrange for him to spend time with the kids. It ended with me hanging up on him."

"Let me guess, he reacted badly?"

Peyton drummed her fingers on the table. "He was so sore tempered this afternoon when he came to pick up Dillon at my office. I knew this wouldn't be easy, but I never thought it would be this hard."

Brooke bit her lip to suppress the urge to point out that Peyton had no one but herself to blame for her current situation. Since Peyton was a guest in her home, she decided to be nice and keep her opinions to herself. For the time being, anyway.

Then, she heard Owen shout, "Bianca! Wait! Daddy's not finished."

"Oh, no," Brooke gasped. She heard Bianca's giggles from the hall and a second later her daughter came into the room, naked and wet from her bath. Bianca was trying to climb onto her lap when Owen came running in, holding a towel in one hand, a diaper in the other. "Missing something?" Brooke teased her husband as Bianca settled on her lap with a giggle at having outsmarted her daddy.

Owen rolled his eyes. "She ran away. One minute she was lying on the floor while I was getting her diaper and the next she was streaking down the hall. She's like you: she likes to run around with her clothes off."

Peyton watched with amusement as Brooke spluttered, at a complete loss for words. Then, she growled—actually _growled_ at Owen. "You are such… and I'll have you know that I… ooooh!" Peyton was sure that, had Brooke been standing, she would've stomped her foot in frustration.

Owen winked at Peyton. "She's so cute whenever she's riled up."

Peyton sat in her chair, observing the three of them, the lighthearted banter between the two adults, the way that they looked at each other, the way that they fussed over Bianca. A few months ago this was her life; she had been nauseatingly happy. How had it gotten so screwed up? How had she let it? And better yet, how could she fix it?

Lucas was sitting on the back porch of Nathan and Haley's house, watching as his kids ran around the yard with Bethy. Dillon was asleep upstairs in Bethy's old crib; a baby monitor sat in front of Lucas on the glass table to alert him the moment the baby woke.

After he'd left Peyton's office, he'd taken Dillon to the park, something that he used to do every weekend with his kids. The girls would roller blade on the paved pathways while he and Dillon sat on the grass by the pond, throwing breadcrumbs to the ducks. He'd sat there with Dillon between his legs, enjoying the serenity, the joy, with his son until it was time to pick up Becca and Gilly from school.

Once he'd acquired the girls, he'd taken them all out for ice cream. The girls had rattled on about school, their friends. Gilly tattled that Becca had worn a bracelet of Peyton's to school and lost it, which spiraled into a ten minute session of the two telling secrets on one another. Lucas found it odd that the girls didn't talk about Peyton. Though, he didn't ask about his wife either.

Not knowing where else to take them, and not quite ready to bring them back to Peyton, Lucas had taken them back to Nathan and Haley's where he'd helped them with their homework and then accompanied them outside to play once Bethy woke from her nap. Now, he sat watching, his heart aching in his chest at the prospect of having to bring them home and tell them goodbye. Again.

"What's this?"

Lucas glanced over his shoulder where Haley stood, staring at the kids running around the yard. "Be careful, Bethy!" she yelled when Bethy tripped over the hem of her dress. "She's so uncoordinated."

"I have them for the afternoon," he told her, stating the obvious.

Haley dropped into the chair beside him. "I see that. I'm glad that you and Peyton worked something out. You've been a broody bear ever since she gave you the big heave-ho."

Lucas sat still for a moment, silently contemplating. "It's not easy getting accustomed to being a spectator in their lives. Not when I'm used to seeing them everyday, putting them to bed at night."

Haley, never one to ignore the chance to add her own two cents, pointed out, "So, do something about it—go home."

Lucas shot her an aggrieved look. As if that thought hadn't crossed his mind. He would if he was certain he'd be happily received by his wife as he no doubt would be by his children. He would not subject himself or his children to any further strife, any more upheaval. They'd all been through enough. That, at least, he could do for them. "Easier said than done, Hales. Peyton and I can barely have an amicable phone conversation. I don't think we're ready to be living under the same roof again."

Haley wanted to say more, but she respected the bounds of friendship. Luke's marriage wasn't her business. She supported him with whatever he decided. But she wasn't prepared for his next words.

"I'm thinking about getting an apartment." Her gaping silence must've given her away because he continued, "I can't keep sponging off of you and Nathan. You have two children of your own. Besides, if I ever want to have my children for overnight, for an entire weekend, I need a place to call my own. Plus, your sofa is just uncomfortable."

Haley laughed at that. "I've liked having you here," she confessed, hoping that it would make him think twice about this apartment business. She turned in her chair toward him. "Luke, you don't have to leave. We don't mind you staying here."

Lucas shook his head. He had put a lot of thought into his decision to find an apartment; his mind was made up. "Thanks, Haley, you know I appreciate it. But the thing is, I don't know how long this estrangement with Peyton is going to last. It could be two weeks, then again it could be two years. I can't just keep crashing on your sofa. Besides, maybe this will push Peyton to ask me to come home, to work things out."

"This decision could have the opposite effect. She could take this as a sign that you've given up. It could propel her to file for divorce. What if that happens? Is that what you want?"

Lucas just shrugged. "If that's what she wants, Haley, then there's not much I can do about it, is there?" Dillon began fussing over the monitor, prompting Lucas to shoot to his feet. "I should be getting them back to Peyton now that Dill's awake."

As he walked away, Haley called out to him. "Lucas, please just think about what this means before you do anything. I know that the last thing you want is a divorce."

"You're right, Haley. The last thing I want is a divorce. But whether or not Peyton wants one is another story."

"But I don't want you to leave," Gilly whined as Lucas was telling her goodbye.

He took her hands in his, kissing them. "I know, honey, and I don't really want to leave, but it's better this way. For all of us."

Gilly threw herself against his chest, her arms circling his neck in a death grip. "Daddy, Mommy cries. At night, after she tucks us in. She goes in her room and she cries. You have to make her stop crying."

Something stuck in his throat, making it difficult to formulate words. He didn't want to know that. And he certainly didn't want to be the responsible party. Dammit, he thought that Peyton would get better with him gone. Pushing Gilly back, he stared into his daughter's eyes, eyes so much like her mother's. "Sweetie, Mommy's still sad that Christopher's gone. There's nothing I can do that will make her stop crying, not until her heart heals."

She stomped her foot, an action that he found quite endearing, utterly adorable. "Make her, Daddy. Make her better," she insisted.

_If only I could_, he thought glumly. "Gilly… there's nothing that I can do."

Those weren't the words that his daughter wanted to hear. Abruptly she quit the room, running upstairs to be away from him. _Wonderful._ He couldn't console his six year old daughter; it was no wonder he couldn't console his wife.

He fell onto the sofa, dropping his head into his hands. He was so… frustrated. No, that wasn't even the right word. Frustrated didn't begin to convey what state he was in. He felt like a disappointment to his entire family—his kids, Peyton. _Especially Peyton._ Even Haley was disagreeing with the decisions that he'd made. Maybe he should burrow himself a hole and never come out.

"You were right, you know." Lucas lifted his head at the sound of Peyton's voice. "There's nothing that you can do."

"You didn't have to say that, Peyton. It's quite easy to discern." He stood up and turned to go.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He spun to face her. "Plainly speaking, Peyton, you'd rather sit in a room alone with a blank canvas and your paints than talk to me, than let me comfort you. You shut me out the second that the paramedics pronounced Christopher dead. You didn't care what I had to say and you sure as hell didn't want my help. So, fine. Figure it out by yourself. I'm tired of fucking trying." He scoffed as he turned back to the door. His hand on the doorknob, he added, "Ten damn years and not a damn thing has changed."

He stormed out of the house, not bothering to wait for Peyton's reply. It would only enrage him further. He hated feeling helpless and unneeded. One thing was for sure, he couldn't remain in this purgatory. He had to do something because it was clear that Peyton wasn't going to make the first step.

On his way back to Nathan and Haley's he stopped at a gas station for the paper. He had some classifieds to peruse.

"DADDY! DADDY!" Gilly yelled, her knees pressed to her chest, her back against the headboard, hiding from the monsters that had threatened to eat her. Daddy always made them go away, he always kept her safe.

Her head lifted as the light flicked on, but it wasn't her daddy that entered the room; it was her mommy. Oh. Right. Daddy had left.

"Gilly? Honey, what's wrong?" Peyton asked, bustling into the room on fast bare feet. She slid onto the bed beside her daughter. She knew about Gilly's frequent nightmares, but, truth be told, she didn't know how to deal with them—that was always Luke's arena. "You wanna tell Mommy?"

Gilly shook her head. She wanted Daddy. She turned on her side, away from her Mom. "I want Daddy," she murmured into her pillow.

Peyton smoothed out her daughter's blonde hair, wishing that she could comfort her, that Gilly would allow her do so. But her daughters were beginning to feel the effects of their father's absence and it was no one's fault but her own. She had made this situation disastrous for herself, for her family. And she had no idea how to make it better, how to fix it.

When Becca came into the room, she let her comfort Gilly. She left the room, her heart aching as Becca hugged Gilly, whispering soothing words that Peyton had heard Lucas whisper to Gilly once upon a time. She leaned against the wall beside the wall, listening as Becca told Gilly that the monsters under her bed had gone, that the lights and the heavy voices had scared them off.

"We'll call Daddy tomorrow, ask him to come and exterminate them."

That settled Gilly for a moment. But the moment stretched too far into silence for Peyton's peace of mind. And then she knew why, for Gilly told her sister, "I wish he would come home."

"He can't, Gilly. Not until Mommy's better."

"We can make her better, Becca," Gilly told her sister defiantly.

Peyton peeked around the doorjamb and saw Becca shaking her head. "No, Gilly, we can't."

Peyton watched as her two girls hugged one another, mourning the mother that they used to have, the father that they missed terribly. Sinking to the floor, she brought her knees to her chest and let the tears fall. Because there was nothing else she could do.

Lucas stood in the middle of his third apartment, scratching his head. Nathan was having the same reaction. "I think their version of great view is a tad misleading," he said, staring at the brick wall that constituted said view.

Nathan was already heading for the door. Lucas followed, shaking his head. Once they were in the car, Nathan started in on him again. "I still don't understand why you're doing this when you have a house on the other end of town. A sofa at my house."

"That sofa is giving me backaches. And I'm not going home."

"Why not? Lucas, you're not ready for this."

Lucas stared at the road ahead, ignoring his brother. He turned up the volume of the stereo via the buttons on his steering wheel, but Nathan switched it off altogether, knowing that he was being put off purposefully.

"Do you want to be relegated to weekend Dad? Do you want to be exchanging your kids every other weekend at a McDonald's with the other loser dads? Because that's going to be your life: a one night stand here and there, microwave dinners, your kids seeing Peyton's new boyfriend more often than you."

Lucas eased the car to a stop at a stoplight, turning to glare at his brother. He didn't want to think about those things, the endless possibilities that would befall him were he to go ahead and get his own place. He didn't want to entertain images of Peyton and some other man, living in his house, sleeping in his home, playing daddy to his kids. It made his stomach churn.

It'd been four hellish weeks since Peyton had asked him to leave. They'd spoken only when it involved the children, completely abandoning any and all niceties with one another. The end was near; he could sense it. And he was going to be prepared when the moment came, when Peyton told him that they no longer meant what they once did to one another, that she wanted a divorce.

"I've heard this all from Haley and Brooke. Please just… stop. I've made up my mind."

"Then, you're an idiot," Nathan said, throwing up his hands in defeat. He turned his attention out the window, his jaw clenching with obvious disdain.

"I'd rather be an idiot than be miserable," Lucas told his brother, switching his foot from the gas to the break when the light turned green. "Now, where's the next apartment on the list?"

Lucas tiptoed in the house, careful to be as quiet as a mouse so as not to rouse his family. He just needed a few materials for his new book and then he'd be gone, no one none the wiser. Quietly, he made his way through the kitchen and down the hallway to his study.

Inspiration had struck when he'd been reading Bethy a bedtime story. His mind had been wandering while his voice spoke of beauties and beasts and happily ever afters. He'd been giddy with having something to focus on that he'd cut the book-reading short to jot down scenes and characters that were beginning to take form in his head. He'd spent two hours outlining and doing character analysis, but to expend on the plot, he needed a few materials. Which had brought him back to his house in the middle of the night, sneaking in like an intruder.

He looked over his shelves, wondering how it was that he'd acclimated so many reference materials. He had books ranging from cuisines to weapons and a little bit of everything in between. Not that he used every book that he'd ever purchased—he liked being eclectic, liked having options. Plus, he just liked books.

Taking his eyes from his never-ending shelves of books, he glanced over the things that had remained untouched, the thin sheet of dust that blanketed his ill-forgotten desk, the top of his computer, the various photo frames scattered about his desk.

This had been his place of reprieve, where he went on nights when insomnia struck, his escape when the kids were sick or Peyton was being pre-menstrual. His sanctuary. He walked to the desk, touching his fingers lightly to the papers that still lay where he'd left them, an email from his publisher on top. He had printed it out for a reason, but since he'd neglected it for so long, the reason now escaped him.

He looked over at the wall where his two book covers had been printed, now encased in black frames, decorating his wall. They'd been a gift from Peyton—she'd been so proud of him, so happy that she'd been there every step of the way, sharing his successes; he'd told her that she'd been his muse.

Lucas stopped woolgathering and crossed back to his bookshelves to get what he'd come for. He wanted to be gone before Peyton even knew he'd come by. Unfortunately, he forgot that sometimes Peyton had her own difficulties sleeping.

"Lucas?" came her voice from behind him.

Spinning around from the bookshelves, he found Peyton standing in the doorway, telephone in hand. He tried not to notice what she was wearing, but he was hard pressed to ignore it—the silk slip barely reached her thighs, the bodice dipped low to reveal a generous swell of breasts. The least she could've done was fasten the sash on the robe. It was like she was teasing him on purpose, which he knew that she wasn't; it was her simply favorite sleepwear. "Hi. Sorry." His words came out scratchy. He cleared his throat. "Did I wake you?"

She spoke through a yawn, nodding. "Yeah. Kinda. I was about to call the police. I thought someone had broken in."

Lucas held up his key. "You never asked for it back."

"It never occurred to me…" she trailed off.

Lucas didn't know what she meant by that statement, whether she meant it had never occurred to her to ask for it, or that he'd use it to get into the house at his own whim. Regardless, Peyton didn't finish her thought. But it hung there, suspended in air, the elephant in the room. Finally, he said, "I, uh… I needed some books," pulling a few more off the shelf, adding to the burgeoning stack on his desk.

She walked over, sifted through them. "You're working on a new book?" she asked, looking at him with a hint of a smile on her lips.

"What can I say? My muse is unparalleled."

Her gaze shot to him and for once it wasn't filled with all the pain and anger that he'd become so accustomed to seeing reflected in her eyes. Instead, it was something else, something that he couldn't quite hope for. His wandering thoughts were interrupted by Gilly's shrill scream from upstairs. "DADDY!"

Only thinking of his daughter and her recurring nightmares, Lucas ran out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time to reach her as quickly as possible. Her arms were suspended in air, open for him when he burst through her door. "Daddy's here, honey," he said, pulling her into his arms, reassuring her with kisses and whispered words. She was clammy, her body shaking with fear. He caught Peyton's eye as she appeared in the door where she bestowed him with her first genuine smile in weeks, mouthing, "Thank you," before she turned away, leaving him to comfort their daughter alone.

After Peyton had gone, Lucas made Gilly look at him, brushing away her tears as he asked, "What were the monsters tonight? Goblins? Clowns?"

"Vampires!"

Lucas sucked in his breath. "Vampires?" He blamed that on Jamie who had a fascination with scary movies. Becca could handle them just fine, but Gilly was much younger, much more susceptible to believing that the things she saw on the television were real and could do her harm, just like they did in the movies.

"He was trying to bite me, Daddy!" she told him, touching her neck with her small fingers.

"Well. It's good that I was here, that I frightened him off, now wasn't it?"

"It was," she said, bestowing him a grateful smile. Two in one night. I'm a rich, rich man, he thought as he settled Gilly back on her bed, pulling the blankets up to her neck, picking up her discarded stuffed pig off the floor.

"Will you make sure that the vampires are all gone?"

Lucas glanced around, whispering, "Are they still here?"

Gilly cupped her hands around her mouth, whispering back, "I think I scared them when I screamed. But they're hiding under the bed."

Lucas rolled up his shirtsleeves, nodding solemnly. "I'll take care of this." Pulling open the first drawer of Gilly's nightstand, he extracted the bottle of "monster repellant" which, in actuality, was merely flavored water. Lemon, to be exact. According to Gilly, monsters and whatnot were repelled by lemons. Lucas had discerned this was because Gilly herself was repelled by lemons.

Getting on his knees on the carpet, Lucas sprayed beneath the bed, saying as he did so, "Be gone, demonic vampires! You won't have my Gilly for a snack." Above him, he heard Gilly snickering. Vampires vanquished, he replaced the spray, climbing onto the bed beside his daughter. "They're all gone, bumpkin."

"Can I have a story before you go?"

"Of course. What do you want to hear? Cinderella? Beauty and the Beast?"

"No, the _other_ story, Daddy."

Of course. He should've known. Settling against his side, Gilly cuddled her pig to her chest as he spun the tale—the story of his life and how he fell in love with Peyton. His daughter's favorite bedtime story, the one, she said, that was the best fairytale of all.

Peyton watched from the doorway as Lucas softly whispered a story in Gilly's ear, slowly lulling her back to sleep. He was always so patient and loving with the children, she mused. He was no longer like that with her. After eavesdropping for several minutes, Peyton left them to their privacy, their father/daughter moment, and went downstairs.

It was in the kitchen that Lucas found her, angrily scrubbing at the permanent markings in the shape of a dinosaur on the countertop that had been there for years. "Peyton." He said her name to inform her of his presence.

Peyton didn't look up to face him. "Is she okay?"

"I think so. She's asleep now, but I think you're good until tomorrow night."

Peyton digested that. The nightmares came and went every night. When Lucas wasn't there to comfort Gilly, Becca filled in. She was the only one who couldn't comfort her daughter, could assure Gilly that the monsters wouldn't hurt her, that everything was going to be alright. But that was the kicker, wasn't it? Everything was not going to be alright. Not until her children's lives returned to normal, until she stopped grieving, until Lucas came home. Her thoughts scattering in her head, she blurted, "You have such a way with her."

"I listen to her," Lucas said matter-of-factly. Gilly was most like him, had many of his same interests—basketball, reading. It was just unfortunate (sometimes, at least) that she was the spitting image of her mother.

Peyton laughed as she looked up at him. "And I don't, right?" When he didn't answer her, she spat, "You know what? Screw you, Lucas. I love those children. I stuck it out when the going got tough. At least, I didn't walk out on them."

That was low even for her. "Oh! Hold it right there, Peyton. You told me to leave. You're the one who packed my stuff and waved me at the door. So don't, even for a second, make this like its my fault. We both know I didn't leave of my own volition."

Peyton threw the SOS pad down on the counter. "That may be true, but the fact remains the same—you left, Lucas. You chose not to fight for us. You chose to turn and walk away."

He snorted. "No, Peyton, I didn't have a choice. Because what was my alternative? To stay and fight? What the hell would I have been fighting for? For those scornful looks that you shoot? You recoiling from my touch? Blaming me for Christopher's death, day in and day out? Tell me, Peyton, what would've been the point? You don't want me here—not really—and I'd rather live apart than to subject myself, my kids to… this," he said, pointing out their mutual animosity with a wave of his hand between them.

"You look at me differently, too," she whispered, hating how weak and bitter she sounded.

Lucas didn't even look at her. "Because I don't know how to look at you anymore. I don't know how to talk to you or act around you. You think you're the only one who's lost Peyton? I've lost a hell of a lot more—my family, my house… _you_. I've lost you and I… I understand that you're angry and distraught, but blaming me is not going to bring him back. Pushing me away is not going to make things better, it's not going to change the fact that Christopher is dead and there's no explanation for how he died."

And just like that, at the mention of Christopher and his death, her defenses were back up, anger flooding her veins. She could want things to return to normal and whenever they didn't speak of Christopher she was naïve enough to think that things could go back to the way they were. But then his name came up and her world shattered all over again. "I put your books in a bag. They're on the table. You should go," she told him, turning her back.

"My thoughts exactly."

Peyton watched as Lucas stalked through the door. It slammed behind him, a fitting end to the harsh words that he'd spoken. Through the window she tracked his movements, waited until his headlights had disappeared then she spun to the table, plucked up the crystal candy dish and flung it against the wall.

After several minutes, once her temper had cooled, she moved to clean up the mess that she'd made and accidentally stepped on a shard of glass. Surprisingly, she felt no pain. How could she when she felt absolutely nothing at all?


	4. It's Not Over If I'm Not Over You

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings.

A/N: Seriously. This? Will be the last update until after finals next week. I SWEAR IT THIS TIME. Also, thank you all for all the wonderful reviews. This fic has so many mixed reactions... and, truly, I love it. There are some on Luke's side, others on Peyton's. Although, I'm well aware that most of you think that Peyton is running roughshod all over Lucas and yes that is true. However, she starts to redeem herself in this chapter and realize that her grief over Christopher fueled a lot of her actions. Okay, I digress; _all of them_.

—

**04. ****It's Not Over (If I'm Not Over You)**

Coffee in hand, newspaper folded under his arm, Lucas trudged across the grass, passing the playground in favor of the picnic benches. It was neutral ground for the child swap that he and Peyton had begun to do on the weekends.

He hated being relegated to weekend dad, but this was his life now. Nothing had been decided—no papers had been filed, no lawyers had been contacted—but a reconciliation was nowhere in sight, that much he knew. Peyton had yet to forgive him for Christopher's death, but she was much more cordial now. She no longer shot him death looks or talked to him, her voice dripping with veiled animosity.

It wasn't the outcome that he had hoped for, especially in those first few weeks following their initial separation. However, for the moment, his wife wasn't intent on scissoring him from her life, from their children's lives. For that, he was thankful.

Hopping atop a vacant picnic bench, Lucas set his coffee beside him and opened his newspaper, setting aside the sections that didn't interest him. He read through the sports, zoning in on basketball first, then baseball and lastly football. He was skimming the classifieds (still on the lookout for that apartment) when he heard a familiar squeal and the one word guaranteed to steal his breath: "Daddy!"

He glanced up, smiling as he spotted his girls running across the park, book sacks flapping on their backs, blonde hair blowing in the breeze. Unfolding himself from the picnic table he'd barely put both feet on the ground before Gilly threw herself into his arms, bony appendages wrapping around his waist. He switched Gilly to the side as Becca joined them, looping his other arm around her, hugging them both tightly against his sides. "Oh, I've missed you girls."

He was pressing kisses to their temples, when he lifted his eyes, watching as Peyton slowly approached, holding firmly onto one of Dillon's hands, his other occupied by his ever-present sippy cup.

As it had since he'd first spied her in high school, his breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. It was ridiculous, still being in love with his wife, even though she'd turned him out on his ear. He hadn't expected when he'd left that their impasse would stretch out as long as it had—he'd thought to be home within a few days, a week at most. However, he hadn't anticipated just how much his wife had come to despise him.

He missed his children, putting them to bed, hearing them squabbling with him at dinner over eating their vegetables, having them wipe the floor with him at CandyLand (even though they cheated). Most of all, he missed his wife—her smile, her laugh, the feel of her in his arms. The longer their separation lasted, the more his hope on a reconciliation dwindled.

Upon seeing him, Dillon broke loose of Peyton, toddling across the grass toward him, dropping his sippy cup in the process. Quickly Lucas let go of his daughters, running across the grass to scoop Dillon into his arms, swinging him around just like Dillon liked. He was rewarded with a high-pitched squeal of delight from his son. He settled Dillon at his hip as Peyton reached him, a ghost of a smile on her lips, Dillon's ill-forgotten sippy in her hand, a duffel and diaper bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hi," he muttered, still at a loss at how to talk to her, look at her. His heart was telling him to kiss her despite any protest that she made (after all she was his wife), but his head told him that distance was key. Absence made the heart grow fonder and all that. Though, how fond of him did she need to be before she let him come home? Probability being what it was, she should be awfully fond of him by now. Bordering on obsessed.

"He missed you," Peyton said simply, stopping beside Lucas. She laid her hand on Dillon's back, gently stroking as Dillon plucked Luke's nose, patted his cheeks, ensuring that he had his father's undivided attention. It was heartachingly adorable.

Lucas tore his eyes away from her. Instead, he looked at Dillon, then at Becca and Gilly. Having garnered his attention, the girls began chattering at once, simultaneously. As if he knew that he couldn't compete with his sisters' chatter, Dillon laid his head on Luke's shoulder and started to hum himself to sleep. Luke's heart twisted in his chest; he hated not being a part of their daily lives. He hated that he and Peyton were estranged. More than anything he hated what had gotten them to this point.

"So, you'll bring them back Sunday afternoon?"

"I always do." What, did she think he was going to take them and flee the country?

Peyton blew out a breath, exasperated. "Lucas…" She had learned the last few weeks that it was better for them both to say as little as possible. Luckily since their last fight they had kept things quick and easy. They'd agreed to focus on their children for now and that had become their main focus. In doing so, she'd begun to miss him. She still cried when she went to bed, but it was less for Christopher and more for Lucas. She'd turn in bed, stare at the empty side that he used to occupy, then she'd cry into her pillow. Yet, she hadn't tried to rectify the situation. She didn't know how to.

He didn't want to argue with her. Lucas had promised himself that he would not pick for a fight. They'd done plenty of fighting and he was just… done. He cut her off. "We're going to Charlotte for the weekend. To see my mom. Hopefully you don't have a problem with that."

"Of course not!" Peyton would never deny her children of seeing their grandmother. Her relationship with Karen was on shaky ground, but that was out of her own stupidity. She had shut out everyone after losing Christopher. After a few moments, she asked, "How is Karen?"

"Good. You know… considering." His mom had taken the separation almost as hard as he had. Before he'd been forced out of his home, away from his family, his mother had made weekly visits, giving he and Peyton ample opportunity to be alone. His mom loved fussing over the kids, plus she was the only grandparent of theirs that they saw on a regular basis. Since the separation, his mother had kept her distance and she and Peyton hadn't spoken. Not that his mom didn't inquire as to his wife's welfare.

He wasn't surprised when Peyton said, "I miss her. You'll tell her I said hello?"

Lucas swallowed a sarcastic retort and nodded. They exchanged a few more pleasantries, but then it was time for them to go. He grabbed the kids' overnight bags from her and began leading them toward his SUV. He was aware of Peyton watching as he settled Dillon into his car seat and made sure the girls were buckled in their seatbelts. He waited until after she'd turned away before he started up the car and eased out of his parking space, wondering as he drove away when the ache in his chest would ease. If it ever would.

—

"Miss Andrews isn't in Mr. Scott," said the pixie faced woman in the chair where Phyllis, Kathy's secretary usually sat.

Lucas stared at her a moment, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Kathy had summoned him up here, she damn well better be here. He didn't tell that to the woman staring at him as if he were an apparition, though. It would have been rude. "Right. Okay, then. Is Phyllis around?" he asked, hoping that Phyllis had stepped out of the office.

The pixie smiled and Lucas had a feeling that that smile had broken the hearts of many young men. He pitied those men. "Phyllis doesn't work here any longer, Mr. Scott."

What? Since when did Phyllis not work for Kathy anymore? And why wasn't he notified? Also, what was all this Mister business? He despised that word. It made him feel like he was a middle-aged man. Which he most certainly was not. He was barely thirty. That did not put one in the Mister category. "Look…" Lucas stopped short not knowing how to address her.

"Heather," she supplied succinctly, rising up from her chair to extend her hand to him. "Heather Masters. I'm a big fan."

Lucas smiled tightly. He liked meeting his fans but at the same time he didn't. They always had an opinion. Regarding An Unkindness of Ravens, he got mixed reactions: most of the women had told him that he wasn't good enough for Peyton. Some thought he deserved to be alone. Well, wouldn't those just be on cloud nine right about now, he thought bitterly. Schooling himself to be friendly, he pasted a smile on his face and shook the girl's hand. "Nice to meet you, Heather. Are you the replacement for Phyllis or just a temp?"

"Just a temp. Kathy's my stepmom so I'm doing this as a favor to her. Plus, she dangled you in front of me so, naturally, I jumped at the chance to meet the illustrious Lucas Scott."

Illustrious. Well. He did like the sound of that.

"Can I get you anything? Water. Coffee. Phyllis had a note that you liked your coffee with two sugars and no cream."

Phyllis forgot nothing; he was going to miss her terribly. Whenever he would walk into Kathy's office she would automatically go fetch him a cup of coffee and then she'd ask about Peyton and the kids. She was the only reason he was ever on time for his appointments with his editor.

"No, no, coffee. Do you know when Kathy will be back?" he asked.

"She's out for the rest of the day. She tried to reach you on your cell, but she couldn't get through. You know how unreliable cell service is. Anyhow." Heather looked down at the papers at her desk, picked up a Post-It, handed it to him. "She set up another appointment for you for Friday."

Lucas read the note, a feat given Kathy's penmanship—Friday, 11AM. Don't be late. Chapters 1-5 completed.

He sighed. "Looks like I have homework to do." Lucas stuffed the note in the pocket of his shirt. "Nice to meet you, Heather. Guess I'll see you Friday."

"I look forward to it, Mr. Scott."

—

Peyton sat on her stool in front of a blank canvas, willing creativity to strike. She hadn't been able to draw or paint anything since Christopher's death. Her children had always been her muse, it was no surprise that with the passing of her baby, that her muse had taken a permanent vacation.

Realizing that she was getting nowhere, she left the room, peeking in on a napping Dillon before she descended the stairs. She was toiling around the kitchen when there was a knock at the back door. Peyton spun to see Brooke wave before she pushed her way inside.

"This is a surprise," Peyton said, watching as her best friend hesitantly entered.

"I was in the neighborhood," Brooke told her, slipping her hands onto the back of one of the upholstered chairs at the counter. She wasn't staying. Besides, this wouldn't take long, not long at all.

Peyton remained standing; she knew that this was going to be a short visit. Brooke came here to say something and by the rigidity of her shoulders, Peyton could tell that it wasn't something good.

"Look, Peyton, you know I love you—"

"Oh, God," she moaned, letting her eyes drop closed momentarily. "Spare me the melodrama, Brooke and just say what you came here to say."

Brooke let out a frustrated sigh, a familiar action in regards to Peyton of late. She met Peyton's gaze straight-on, not backing down when her best friend did her best to deter her with a hard scowl. "You need to get it together if you want to keep your family together. Because your husband? Is ready to throw in the towel."

Peyton willed herself to react, but she wouldn't. Not in front of Brooke.

"Do you know what Lucas has been doing for the last few days? Do you have any idea whatsoever?"

Peyton shook her head. "I haven't spoken to him." Which was true. When he'd dropped off the children Sunday night he'd been in a hurry to leave. Was there something that she ought to know? Was Lucas dating? Oh, God. What if he was? She didn't know how she felt about that, if she deserved to feel anything at all.

"He's been out apartment hunting. He's given up because you've given him absolutely no hope."

Peyton was… confused. She felt as if the world was tilting all over again, that the ground was opening and swallowing her whole. "I never thought…" she trailed off, forgetting her anger, her resentment while other emotions took place. Fear. Rejection. Love. Because as much as she liked to think that she didn't, she was still very much in love with her husband.

"No, you didn't think—that was apparent," Brooke snapped. "He's like you, Peyton; he doesn't know how to go on. He misses Christopher, too. And while he's out there sleeping on someone else's sofa and looking at apartments—alone—you're here surrounded by your memories, your children. You lost Peyton, but Lucas lost more."

Lucas had told her the exact same thing. Funny how it didn't take root until Brooke said it. Peyton attempted to find words to explain how she was feeling, justify her actions, but she couldn't. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Brooke was right. She had pushed Lucas away, blamed him for something that wasn't his fault, anyone's fault really. She had let her grief consume her and guide her actions. Wrong, as they were.

"I didn't know—I didn't know how to do it, Brooke," she said, beginning to pace. She had to move, lest her legs give out and she crumble to the floor. She was weak, but she refused to show her weakness. She didn't know how to be without Christopher. And Lucas… she blamed him. It was wrong and unjustified, but it just… it got all muddled in her head. She'd been his mother, she should've been able to do something to save him. It made her feel like such a failure.

She must've grown extremely quiet for Brooke begged, "Peyton, talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours. I'm worried about you."

"You can't help me, Brooke. This is my problem. I broke it, I have to fix it."

"Honey, you didn't break anything," Brooke assured her.

Peyton shook her head, staring out the window. "I did, Brooke," she said, looking over her shoulder to meet her friend's curious gaze. "I broke Lucas. Even worse, I broke us and I don't—I don't know how to fix us. I just don't know."

—

It was hard to believe that it had already been three months. But since that morning he'd woken to Peyton's shrill screams, his life had been in a constant state of upheaval. From one day to the next, he didn't know what the day would bring. Those first few days following Christopher's death he hadn't known how he was to keep breathing, the pain had been that deep. He didn't know how women could bear it, having miscarriages, giving birth to stillborns… How were they able to just pick up the pieces and move on when he couldn't? Hell, he had stopped his apartment search because he just hadn't been ready for that step, to accept defeat.

Lucas had made his rounds through the cemetery, stopping at Keith's grave, then Jimmy's, barely giving a glance to Dan's before he sought out his son's. His fingertips grazed the marble, cold in the November chill. He drew his coat tighter around himself, stepping back to stare down at the words etched in stone—Christopher Davis Scott. A good, strong name for a good, strong (not to mention healthy) baby. He just didn't know where it all went wrong, how a lively child could die so suddenly, so tragically.

He remembered Peyton's fear of SIDS with Becca. She'd been a first-time mom and had taken every precaution. With Gilly and Dillon she'd calmed; she knew what to expect. But then Christopher… They hadn't been prepared. Then again, how do you prepare for something like that? Would the wounds run as deep if he'd died of a long disease, a car accident? He supposed they would because loss was loss, no matter the circumstances.

He wanted to vent out his frustrations, kick something, pummel someone into the ground. But the only person he wanted to inflict pain upon was his own self. His choices of late… they hadn't been sound ones. His mind was addled. He needed to focus, regroup. He had his priorities in order: his children, his new book. Yet he still felt lost.

Lucas didn't know how long he stood there, simply thinking, content to spend some measure of time with the child that he'd lost. Night was beginning to fall by the time he turned to leave. It was then that he noticed Peyton, standing at her mother's grave, her eyes set upon him.

Slowly, they made their way towards one another, meeting halfway. They stood inches apart, but for all the space between them, it should have been miles. For once he wasn't the first to speak. "Hey there, stranger."

He was taken aback by the casualness of her greeting, the smile that accompanied it. At first he didn't know how to react, but luckily Peyton wasn't looking for him to reply because she said, "I came to see my mom."

"And Christopher," he added, wanting to kick himself in the ass after the words had left his mouth. Bringing up the baby's name always managed to screw up a good conversation. He braced himself for what would follow.

Peyton didn't explode into a fit of temper this time, however. She just said, "Naturally," looking just beyond him towards Christopher's grave. Then she asked, "Do you come to see him a lot? I've never heard you say… then again I've never asked."

"No. You haven't." Lucas followed her gaze, falling into step beside her when she began walking toward Christopher's resting place. "But yeah, I come here a lot. At least once a week. More, if we've…"

Peyton nodded, knowing how he felt. She usually came to see Christopher too following one of their many arguments. Suddenly, she changed the subject, fearing that their easy rapport would be ruined were they to continue in their current vein. "Becca's birthday is next week," she blurted, realizing too late that he was more than aware of their daughter's birth date.

"I know. Have you planned anything special?"

"Just a party. The same old. But she's invited a few of the girls from school for a sleepover. I've been stacking up on treats and DVDs. Can you believe that she's going to be eight already?" She half-turned towards him when she posed the question.

Lucas rocked back on his heels. "God, no. It seems like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital." They both fell silent then, lost in the memory of Becca's birth and their adjustment to parenthood so soon after marrying. They'd been engaged when Peyton had found out that she was pregnant. Before then they hadn't spoken of children or when they expected to begin their family. Despite that, they were both giddy at the prospect of a child. Nearly a year after Becca, Gilly followed, Dillon a few years later, and then Christopher not long after that. "How many girls?"

"I think Becca said there would be ten total."

Lucas whistled. "That's a lot of females."

"So, in other words, your version of heaven?"

She was teasing him, he realized instantly. And though he knew he shouldn't, he was liking it! "Pretty much."

"You're going to come to the party, I hope."

"I haven't missed a birthday yet. Don't plan on starting now."

"Good. That's… good. You can come a little early and help me set up. Brooke offered, but she always gets sidetracked. You know how she is."

She wanted his help. He tried to wrap his mind around it and was having a hard time of it. Somehow he found the wherewithal to respond. "No, no. I'll be there."

"Around one, then? Saturday?"

"Perfect." The conversation had drawn to a close, but neither was making a move to leave. Finally, Lucas said, "Well, I'll just—can I walk you to your car?"

Peyton gave him a small smile, but shook her head. "No, I'm just going to hang around for a bit. You go on ahead."

Without another word, Lucas began walking toward his car, but found himself looking back over his shoulder at Peyton, puzzled by their conversation, wondering if it meant anything, cursing himself for hoping that it did.

—

"What are you doing?"

Peyton yelped upon hearing Brooke's voice right behind her. "God, Brooke, make some noise why don't you!" she chastised her friend, her swiftly beating heartbeat steadily thrumming in her chest from the fright.

"Sorry. I guess I got good at the tiptoeing since Bianca was born. So. Who are we spying on? A neighbor? The hot landscaper—" Brooke snapped her mouth closed as she looked out the window, finding the source of Peyton's curiosity. Ah. Lucas. Of course. "Who's the skirt?"

Peyton shot a glare at Brooke, only taking her eyes off of Luke and the mysterious brunette for a second to do so. They'd been standing on the curb for nearly ten minutes now, talking. Lucas didn't seem to be enjoying her company very much and from Peyton's viewpoint, the girl was sending some serious signals. "I don't know who she is."

"A literary person, I'm guessing."

Peyton turned her attention to Brooke. "You think so or you know so?"

"I'm just assuming, Peyton. He's been preoccupied with nothing but his book—I mean aside from his kids—for weeks now. Haley said that when he's not playing hide and seek with Bethy or working on his book or taking the kids for weekend jaunts to Charlotte, he's in New York meeting with his editor. Speaking of, isn't she a woman?"

Peyton returned her gaze out the window. They were standing closer than they were a second ago. And did she—yes, she just fixed the collar on Luke's shirt! The nerve of the little home wrecker! "Yes, but I've met Kathy and that," Peyton stressed, pointing, "is not her."

Brooke was becoming increasingly amused by Peyton's reaction to Lucas with the other woman. Maybe her best friend wasn't a lost cause after all. And as if she needed to make the situation any worse, Brooke remarked to Peyton, "She's pretty young, too. Maybe a college student? I wouldn't mind have her boobs," she said, looking down at her own. For a while there after Bianca was born the girls had increased in size, but now they were back to their normal size, taunting her with their smallness.

"You're not helping," Peyton groaned.

Grasping Peyton's shoulders, Brooke turned Peyton so that they were face one another. "You should be out there, standing beside your husband, not in here watching him like some voyeur." Peyton averted her gaze, returning her eyes to what was transpiring outside, knowing that what Brooke was saying was true. A lot of what Brooke had been saying recently had been true, much as she hated to admit it (and wouldn't aloud). "He still belongs to you—I'd go make sure that the well endowed Barbie doll knows that."

"Does he?" Peyton questioned, returning her eyes to Brooke. "Does he still belong to me?"

Brooke picked up Peyton's left hand, pointing at her wedding rings. "These are still on your finger and I know Lucas is still wearing his. You may be living apart, but the two of you are still very much together." Peyton opened her mouth to protest the point, but Brooke gave her a stern look, almost challenging her to deny it. "Now, get your bony ass outside and make sure that little twit knows that you're the only woman in Lucas Scott's life and that there's only room for one." Peyton turned to go, but Brooke pulled on her arm, forcing her back around. She held her hand out. "Hand over the hair clip."

"What?"

"Pull out the hair clip and shake your hair out. Lucas loves your hair down."

As if I needed to be reminded of that, Peyton thought. However, she did as she was told..

Outside, Lucas was standing on the curb talking to Heather, surprised that she had driven all the way down from New York to return the chapters of his book that he'd given Kathy the previous Friday. He could have very well driven up sometime the following week, but it was nice enough of her to save him the trip. Though, he had a niggling feeling that she hadn't come to return his papers out of the goodness of her heart. And that was one particular thought that didn't bear further contemplation.

"So, this is your house, huh?" Heather said, gesturing to the two story colonial behind them. It was quaint, not to mention befitting an author. "It's nice. How long have you lived here?"

Lucas wondered if he should point out that he no longer lived here, but figured that that was information best kept to himself. "Um, six years." He looked back at the house, recently repainted due to a whim of Peyton's during her last pregnancy. They had bought at an auction, the home having being seized by the bank after the previous occupants lost it during a messy divorce. The irony was not Lucas for a moment.

"It's very Leave It to Beaver, Mr. Scott."

"My wife loves it," he said before he could stop himself. Though they were technically still married, he didn't know if he should be throwing that word around.

Heather studied him for a moment, liking Lucas Scott for much more than who he was, but for what he represented—home, family, security. She liked those things in a man. Plus, it didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes. "A lucky woman, your wife."

"Yes, she is."

Though, the words didn't come from him. He spun around, finding Peyton standing there, looking quite radiant in a wine colored dress that hugged her curves, displayed her breasts in a way that made his mouth water. Her hair hung curly and loose around her shoulders; he had to stick his hands in his pockets to fight the urge to reach out and thread his fingers through the silkness that was calling to him. As if he wasn't already bewitched, Peyton sidled up beside him, looping her arm through his. Speech and coherent thought became a thing of the past then.

Heather was forced to make introductions herself, sensing that Lucas's tongue was, for the moment, tied by the appearance of his wife. Sticking her hand out to Peyton, she said, "Hello, you must be Mrs. Scott. I'm Heather, the new secretary for your husband's editor."

"Nice to meet you, Heather." Peyton couldn't say that it was a relief that this young woman was part of the publishing world. She pushed that aside, focusing on the most pressing matter. "So, Heather, what brings you to Tree Hill?" She spared her husband a knowing look, smothering a laugh when he colored. Yes, they both knew exactly why Heather was in Tree Hill, the question was merely polite conversation.

Having found his voice, Lucas bent close to Peyton, informing her, "Heather was returning the initial drafts of my book."

Sure she was, Peyton desperately wanted to say. Instead, she said, "How nice of her," with all the sweetness that she could muster. She was honestly considering resorting to throwing a tantrum—stomping on the girl's foot with the heel of her boot and pulling her hair. Just to make a point, of course. Plus, it would simply just feel good. She had no doubt that that particular act of ownership would bring her extreme joy.

"It was no problem, really." Eyes darting from Lucas to Peyton, Heather took a step back, eager to retreat. There was an undercurrent between husband and wife that she wasn't comfortable in their vicinity. She'd speak to Lucas Scott again, of that she'd make certain. "Well, I should be going…"

"You came all this way, you could stay," Lucas suggested, unprepared for the jab to his gut from Peyton's elbow. "Though, it's just going to be kids. Messy, loud kids. Probably not your scene."

Heather smiled, realizing that she wasn't wanted. By the wife, anyway. "No, definitely not my scene. I'm meeting friends in Charlotte so I should probably get going." She shifted her attention to Peyton, brandishing her sweet and innocent smile. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Scott."

"Likewise," Peyton said through clenched teeth, watching as the young woman sauntered away, hips swaying seductively. "That is Kathy's new secretary?" she demanded once Heather was out of ear shot.

"Heather's her stepdaughter. Her position is only temporary," he told Peyton as she pulled her arm free of his and stepped away. Lucas missed her closeness the second she retreated—and hated himself for it.

"She's awfully young, not to mention sexually potent. And what the hell was with all that Mr. Scott shit? It was like a come on every time she said it."

Lucas couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. Now this was rich. She was jealous! "My, my isn't this shocking. You're jealous," he murmured, amused by the prospect.

Peyton scoffed, throwing him an annoyed look. "I am not. She's a child." Though, it rankled that she was that transparent. She was jealous and she wanted to smack that smug smile off his face for inciting that reaction in her.

"Which is why I find it completely hilarious that you think I'd be interested in her."

Peyton ignored him, reminding him, "You're married." She glanced at his hand to see for herself that what Brooke had said earlier was true. Indeed, it was—he was still wearing his wedding band.

"A fact that I'm quite cognizant of Peyton, I assure you."

"Remember that before you get any ideas into that pretty little head of yours." This was emphasized by her jabbing her finger against his forehead before she walked away. Lucas let himself watch her as she did, enjoying the sway of her hips, the way the breeze ruffled her hair. He grinned to himself as he followed suit. There was hope for them yet.

—

The following night, Peyton had a book in her hand and was getting ready to retire for the night when the doorbell rang. Pulling her robe tighter around herself, she headed for the door, surprised to find Brooke standing on the other side. In her pajamas.

"I have vodka and a bag of DVDs. I'm implementing a girls night," Brooke said, displaying her booty.

"Did you say vodka?" Peyton asked with a grin. And she had been perfectly content to retire early with a romance novel!

"I did," Brooke leaned forward to whisper.

Peyton moved back so that Brooke could enter the house. The second the door closed, she asked, "Where's Bianca and Owen?"

"They're at home. I put her to bed and Owen's sitting on the sofa with the entire DVD collection of Lost so he's completely useless. Anyway, you need my company. And we both need this," she said, shaking the bottle of vodka.

Peyton waved Brooke toward the living room. "You go and settle in and I'll get glasses." As she walked to the kitchen, she yelled back, "You only brought one bottle?"

"I have two more in the car. For emergencies." In the kitchen, Peyton was reaching for said glasses when Brooke bellowed, "What do you want to watch?"

Peyton didn't reply until she was back in the living room, two glasses filled with ice and a quarter filled with 7UP. She laid the contents on the table, looking over at Brooke who was standing in front of the television, sorting through the DVDs. "What are our options?"

"There's a theme."

"Ooh, I like theme girls nights. What is it?" Peyton asked, twisting off the cap on the vodka.

"I had you in mind when I was picking these out," Brooke confessed, then began reciting titles, starting with, "Thelma & Louise, the number one man-hating movie ever."

Peyton blinked at her friend, then said, a little flummoxed, "I don't hate men."

Brooke shrugged, amending, "So, you hate one man."

Peyton walked over, handing Brooke her glass. With a resigned sigh, she told Brooke, "I don't hate Lucas/ I just don't… I just don't know how to deal with him right now. I've made things with us so damn complicated."

"The two of you got along pretty well yesterday. Had I not known you, I wouldn't have thought the two of you were estranged."

"We had to get along. It was Becca's birthday. We couldn't very well argue in front of the guests." It was a better explanation than the real one—that she had stuck close to him out of sheer, blinding, unexplainable jealousy. When any of the single moms attempted to chat Lucas up, she had swooped in and hauled him to her side, miraculously needed his help blowing up balloons or moving the presents from inside to outside. Lucas hadn't seemed to mind, however. In actuality, he'd seemed to enjoy her company just as much.

The strange behavior had left her bewildered, confused. Now she didn't know how to act around him, which she'd demonstrated when Lucas had picked up the children earlier that afternoon. He had attempted casual conversation and she had simply nodded along, offering one word answers or too loud laughs at things he said that weren't even remotely funny. It had been embarrassing.

"You're being ridiculous. You got along because you miss him. Because you need him."

"Do I?" she countered. "Do I need him? Does he need me? Can he forgive me for what I did to him, to our family?"

"That's a question that only Lucas can answer. You lost a child. That would send any woman screaming for the hills and wanting to bash her husband with a baseball bat. I get that you needed to vent and you chose to vent via your husband AKA public enemy number one. I'm sure Lucas knows and understands that."

Peyton walked back to the sofa, stopping to scoop up her glass from the coffee table. "God, I hope so," she said, sitting down. Pulling her knees up against her chest, she asked, "Can I confess something?"

"Oooh, secrets!" Brooke purred excitedly, moving toward the chair opposite Peyton. She tucked her legs beneath her, grabbed a pillow to put in her lap, then waved her hand at Peyton. "Proceed with the secret telling."

Peyton was lucky that she had Brooke for a best friend. Brooke was loyal to both her and Lucas, lending her support to both of them. In a way, she was glad for that—it helped her remain close to Lucas while they were apart. Not that that made much sense. After taking a sip of her drink, the first taste going down rather difficult, she confessed, "I miss him. I try not to because… well because it's just not fair. To myself, but especially not to him. For so long I've held onto my grief, resenting him because it was just easier. But then—"

"Then, what?" Brooke prodded, making quick work of her drink as she waited for Peyton to fill the silence with words and explanations.

"I messed up, Brooke. It's that simple. I think about it and at the time it seemed like what I was doing, everything I was saying, was right. I was justified. I'd lost my baby and I wanted to lash out and Lucas… he was convenient. I hated that their was no explanation, no cause for Christopher's death. I blamed Lucas because he couldn't give me the answers I wanted—needed. I blamed him because I didn't know how to comfort him or myself and then I blamed because… well because it was just easier to deal with that than my grief." She looked up at Brooke, wondering aloud, "I wasn't justified, was I?"

Brooke debated on answering that question, fearing that it was rhetorical. Then, she answered anyway. "Yeah, honey, you were."

Again, silence. Then Peyton declared, "I'm going to fix it. I don't know how, but I am going to find a way."

Brooke raised her glass. "Now that's something that I can drink to." Then, looking at the TV, she asked Peyton, "Can you at least put off the man-loving until tomorrow? Because I really want to watch Thelma & Louise and I can't do that if you're going to be all YAY TO THE PENIS."

After snorting vodka through her nose, Peyton nodded, moving to the DVD player to pop in the movie. As she did so, Brooke said from behind her, "I'm proud of you, Peyton. For getting through all of this."

The movie started, Peyton spun back towards Brooke. "I'm not over it, Brooke. I still have quite a way to go. I've spent the last few months crying into my pillow at night, over pictures and home videos when I could've been doing something else—crying with Lucas. I denied us both that luxury. You know how they say you don't know what you got until its gone?" Peyton didn't wait for Brooke to answer. She sat back down on the sofa with her vodka and said as the movie began, "It's so fucking true."


	5. Action! Not Words

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings.

—

**05. ****Action! Not Words**

Peyton clapped her hands, summoning the troops. Becca and Gilly each had their backpacks on, ready to embark on the zoo excursion with Lucas who was due any minute now. Dillon, however, was lying on the floor trying to stick his toes in his mouth, having shed his socks and shoes in favor of being able to do so. Peyton closed her eyes, groaning, to block out the sight of her son's peculiar new habit.

Opening her eyes, she turned her attention to Becca who had just sat on the sofa and grabbed up the remote control. "Becca, get mommy a diaper so that I can change Dill before daddy gets here." Surprisingly Becca didn't make a fuss. She hadn't been gone a second when Lucas pushed through the front door, having abandoned the nicety of knocking. Though, he had a key so knocking was a moot point regardless. Peyton muttered a curse under her breath as Dillon struggled to his feet and waddled across the floor to wrap himself around Luke's legs.

"Dude, where are your shoes?" Lucas asked, hefting Dillon into his arms. Dillon mumbled something incoherent that Lucas didn't quite grasp as he pointed at his shoes on the floor.

"Here," Peyton said, gathering up the socks and shoes off the floor. She took Dillon from Lucas, much to her son's dismay, setting him down on the sofa so that she could put his shoes back on. "I don't know if you've noticed, but he's garnered a fascination with his feet."

Lucas stood back and watched as Peyton laid Dillon out on the sofa, taking a moment to gnaw on his feet playfully before she got down to business, returning his socks and then his shoes to his little feet. "I thought that was just a one-time thing." Over the weekend, he'd caught Dillon trying to stick his toes in his mouth, but he'd just chalked it up to his son suffering from boredom.

Peyton shook her head. "No, no. Believe me when I say that it happens pretty often. I'll get him dressed in the morning and the second I turn my back he's spread out on the floor, sans socks and shoes, foot in mouth. I wish I was that limber."

Lucas grinned and opened his mouth to refute the fact, but she sent him a steely look that made him snap his mouth shut—though, he didn't lose the grin. He knew how limber Peyton was, had benefited from her ability to stretch her legs this way and—He pulled at the collar of his shirt, having gone warm all over. Lucas tried to discern which was worse, having her treat him coldly and shun his conversation or _this_ right here, this flirtation that she'd come to do with him.

"Bite your tongue, Lucas Scott," she told him, pulling down Dillon's pants as Becca ran into the room with a diaper that she handed to her mother.

"Hi, Daddy," she said by way of greeting.

"Where's Gilly?" he asked, looking around for the daughter that was usually always first to greet him.

Becca leaned against the sofa, giving Dillon her hand to occupy him while Peyton changed his diaper. "She's redoing her hair," Becca said with a sarcastic roll of her eyes.

At this, Lucas glanced at Peyton. She sighed as she pulled Dillon to his feet so that she could pull up his pants. "Brooke showed her a new hairstyle; Gilly's obsessed with copying it."

"Oh." He didn't begin to understand girls and their fripperies. When the girls were with him, he left the hairstyling up to Becca. He'd never had to do it before and wasn't going to start. Not to say that Gilly hadn't hit him up to do so—because she had. The poor girl honestly thought he could braid her hair. After watching him turn her sister's hair into a tangle of knots, Becca had intervened and since then had taken over all hair duties.

After all, his version of style consisted of a dollop of hair gel, a couple of tugs on his hair with his fingers and that was about it. Most mornings he'd simply run a brush through it and call it a day. This was, of course, while he and Peyton had been living part. He hadn't been able to get by with that when he was at home.

Peyton watched protectively as Dillon scrambled off the sofa, stretching out on his back on the floor at his father's feet. Lucas, amused by his son's antics, peered down at him, making funny noises as he nudged Dillon with the toe of his shoe. Peels of laughter escaped the toddler, much to her delight. This was what had been missing, she realized, seeing Lucas with the kids, how happy he made them.

She nudged Becca's arm; she too was engrossed with watching Lucas and Dillon's interaction. "Honey, Dillon's sippy cup is in the refrigerator. Could you run and get it for your dad?"

Becca nodded, at once taking directive and heading for the kitchen. Dillon, now on his feet, followed suit, screaming, "Ate, 'ecca, ate!" Becca spun around, holding out her hand to her brother, waiting for his little legs to reach her. The two of them disappeared together, Becca talking to her brother as they crossed the hallway to the other room.

Peyton leaned back against the sofa, taking a much needed breath. She had been running around after the kids all morning to make sure that they were ready for when Lucas came to pick them up. The kids were always eager to see their dad, more so today knowing that a zoo excursion and a night in a hotel awaited them.

"So, what are you going to do?" Lucas asked, resisting the urge to sit beside her. Doing that would no doubt result in him giving in to his desire to put his hand on the length of leg that was taunting him. Peyton's dress had ridden up high on her thighs and she was making no move to lower it. Though, to be fair, she did seem a bit winded.

Sitting up straighter, Peyton told him, "Well, I don't know actually. I thought I'd clean house, but then I nixed that idea. I want to do something for me. So, then I thought that I'd cash in my birthday gift certificate for the spa. But really I don't want to do that, either. Truthfully, I have no idea what I'm going to do. The last time you had the kids, Brooke came over and we got drunk, if you remember correctly." Peyton inwardly cringed, remembering the cake she'd made out of herself in front of him. She could kick herself for bringing that up when she'd attempted all week to forget the fiasco entirely.

"Oh, I remember," he said, remembering how he'd found her laying on the sofa with a cold compress pressed to her head. When he'd towered over her to ask if she was alright, the smell of his cologne had her running for the bathroom. If only she had made it.

"I was told that Brooke was worse. Then again she was drinking the vodka like it was water."

Conversation lulled when Becca and Dillon rejoined them, the latter carrying his sippy cup upside down, dripping juice all along the floor. Before Peyton could summon up a groan, Lucas sped into action. He scooped the cup from Dillon, handing it off to Becca instructing her to put it in the diaper bag. He then went to the kitchen, wet a washcloth with warm water and wiped up the trail of juice.

"You didn't have to do that," Peyton told him, a little in awe of how he took control of the situation, despite him not living there anymore.

Lucas shrugged indifferently. "You may need to mop that anyway."

"I will."

"You know… since you don't have any plans… you could always… come with us." Lucas let his eyes slip closed at the meager initiated invitation. He'd been turning the idea over and over in his head for the past three days, wondering how he could put the offer out there without sounding or looking desperate for Peyton's company, her attention. He had been aiming for something a little more put together and not so lame. He failed so, _so_ hard.

Peyton was stunned into silence. At first she didn't know how to respond. Last week had he asked her that, her answer would've been no. A definitive, firm no. She might have said something sarcastic or cutting, rolled her eyes. But this week? Today? She could actually contemplate his offer because she wanted to spend time with him. She wanted to repair her family, her marriage. Accepting his invitation would be her first step.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," she found herself saying. Their children had been looking forward to this weekend with their dad. She knew they wouldn't mind; the three of them would be ecstatic to have their parents together even if for a family outing. But still. The weekends were Luke's time with the kids and she didn't want to interfere with those moments that she knew were precious to him.

Lucas scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. We always talked about doing this. Plus, you know you'll regret it if you can't see Dillon's reaction to all the animals."

Damn. The man had a point. Dillon was a lover of animals, both large and small, much like his father and though he'd never seen an elephant up close and personal, Peyton knew that she would hate herself forever if she missed out on the opportunity to see him point and laugh, or worse—point and cry. However, an excuse still formed on her tongue. "The hotel—"

"—has two beds. What else you got?" He was challenging her to make more arguments, more excuses, she mused. He lifted his eyebrow, crossed his arms, and waited.

Peyton bit her lip, undecided. She could go; there was nothing wrong with her going. It would probably help her decide what to do regarding their estrangement and how to go about rectifying it. Her decision made, she told him, "I'll need a few minutes to pack."

The grin that washed over her husband's face could only be classified as a smirk. A satisfied one, at that. Lucas grabbed Peyton's hand, pulling her to her feet. "Go pack," he said, nudging her forward. He fell onto the sofa as Gilly and Dillon ran into the room, attacking him at once. He caught Peyton's eye over their heads, holding it for a moment, until she turned away and disappeared into the hallway.

It might not be how he had envisioned the weekend progressing, but maybe it would turn out even better. Right there, sitting on his sofa, his kids vying for his attention, he vowed to himself that he would see to it that the zoo outing was a success and that by the time they were on their way home tomorrow, his wife started to like him again.

"Okay, Peyton, what's the—" A dress hit Brooke in the face, before it glided to the floor, falling into a gauzy heap of blue silk at her feet. "—emergency," she finished, watching as Peyton flung dress after dress out of her closet, evidently in the middle of a fashion crisis.

"I have nothing to wear. _Nothing._"

Brooke's gaze shot to Dillon who was laying on the floor not far from Peyton's feet, amusing himself with one of Luke's ties. "Honey, are you having some kind of meltdown? See, I knew that you going away with Lucas for the weekend would turn you batty."

Peyton scowled at Brooke. "Going away with Lucas for the weekend did not drive me batty. It… if anything it gave me some perspective on my marriage and our relationship."

"This I've gotta hear," Brooke said, crossing her arms.

"Don't be cross."

Brooke made a sound of frustration. "Peyton you've been dancing around taking Lucas back for weeks now. If you're going to do it, then do it already. You're not doing your marriage—your children—any good by continually putting it off."

"I know," Peyton said, looking down at her son. Dillon looked so much like Lucas that it hurt to look at him sometimes. She would look into his eyes and see Lucas and guilt would plague her for all the hasty decisions—_the wrong decisions_—she'd made since Christopher's death.

"Plus, it's getting annoying," Brooke said, taking stock of Peyton's closet. Half of her wardrobe was outdated. Her vision swam. Her legs felt like Jell-O. Wait. Wasn't that dress trendy, like, three summers ago? Oh, _hell no_. She started flinging clothes off of hangers as well, adding to the growing pile of clothes strewn along the floor.

"Well!" she heard Peyton exclaim haughtily from behind her.

Feeling guilty, Brooke faced her best friend. "I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me. I'm just—"

"—being a bitch?" Peyton suggested, sliding onto her unmade bed.

Brooke moved to sit beside Peyton. "Sweetie, I know you. It's takes you awhile to get around to doing something. Remember how long it took you to own up to your feelings for Lucas back in high school? You can't afford to screw around with this. He's yours for the taking. If you want him, go get him."

"What if he doesn't want me, Brooke? What if I go to him and he thinks that I'm not worth all the trouble? That our marriage isn't worth saving…" Peyton felt tears stinging her eyes. Somehow she managed to make them retreat with a hasty blink of her eyes.

Brooke reached over, covering Peyton's hand with her own. "Peyton, you are all he's ever wanted. He's just waiting for you to go to him and tell him that you want him, too."

"Things were supposed to turn out better for us, you know?"

"Believe me, I know. You'll work it out."

"You seem certain."

"You're Lucas and Peyton, you have to work things out. But if not, I have a plan."

Peyton stared at Brooke curiously, wondering what kind of nefarious scheme Brooke had up her sleeve. "Why does that send a shiver up my spine?"

Brooke just laughed, pushing herself to her feet. "So, I take it Lucas is to blame for all of this," she said, changing the subject with a wave her hand towards the bevy of clothes that Dillon was now rolling around in. She laughed at the baby as he stood up, adorned in a green dress, smiling happily, looking at Peyton for her reaction. Peyton didn't disappoint, telling him how pretty he looked, far prettier than she ever did in that dress; Dillon beamed. The scene tugged at her heartstrings. It never failed, every time Brooke was around Peyton and her children, she was plagued with the desire to have more children. However, Bianca was barely a year old; she had time.

"I was going to go see Lucas," Peyton admitted freely, knowing that she couldn't hide the fact from Brooke for long. It was a decision she hadn't come to easily, but now that it was made, she had begun to freak out over it and its significance.

"That explains the neurosis," Brooke said matter-of-factly. "Lucas has seen you at your worst. You could go like this," she waved her head toward Peyton, "and it wouldn't make a difference to him."

"I want to make a difference, Brooke. I want him to look at me and…" Peyton looked down at Dillon, stopping herself from saying something that wasn't for a two year old's years.

Brooke nodded her head. "I get it." Walking to the closet, she surveyed what remained, making a note to bring Peyton some pieces from her own closet. She pulled a sweater dress off its hanger, throwing it in Peyton's direction. "Wear that. It'll get Luke's blood pumping."

Peyton stared at the dress—a gift from Brooke—noting that it was rather short and would barely reach the tops of her thighs. "I want to wow him, Brooke, not seduce him." She felt her cheeks flame at the mere thought. It had been a long time since she and Lucas had… She pressed the dress to her chest as if that would strengthen her resolve, give her a boost of confidence. _Highly unlikely_, she thought.

"Same thing," Brooke insisted, scooping Dillon from the floor, before making her way out of the room, leaving Peyton to debate her next move.

Lucas was sitting out in Nathan and Haley's backyard, his laptop on his lap. He'd been attempting to write all morning to no avail. Chapter nine just wouldn't unfurl in his mind, his characters refusing to cooperate. He had a deadline to meet and Kathy would be less than thrilled if he didn't meet it. His concentration was shot to hell and he had no one to thank for that but Peyton.

He'd been unable to think of anything but her since they'd returned from their zoo excursion. When they'd all piled into his SUV, it was easy to see how excited and optimistic the kids were that he and Peyton were spending time together, time not spent yelling at one another. He'd felt compelled to make sure that the day went on without fail.

Surprisingly, it had. It had surpassed his expectations. Peyton had appeared happier than he'd seen her in months. She'd laughed and he couldn't describe the joy that had coursed through him upon being privy to such a sound. Much to his dismay, it hadn't lasted. By the time they were on the road home, Peyton had closed herself off, grown quiet, shut him out. He hadn't talked to her since, knowing that he had pushed too much on her too soon.

He didn't know what to do anymore, how to get through to her and prove that their marriage was worth saving, that they could persevere and they'd be stronger for it. She didn't want to hear his arguments, his promises because to her they were futile. She had made a decision and that was that. End of discussion.

He thought that they were turning things around, that they were beginning to rebuild. The situation with Heather had told him that his wife still cared enough to get jealous. He had thought to make use of that, distort it to his advantage, but he couldn't resort to trickery. If he was going to get her back, he was going to do it honestly. Plus, he didn't want to lead Heather on, that would only make matters worse in the long run. However, his patience was running thin, the hope that he had regained, he was losing.

Hearing the door open behind him, Lucas snapped his computer shut saying, "Good, you're home, I could use the distraction." Setting his laptop aside, he glanced over his shoulder, expecting to find Haley standing behind him. Surprise didn't begin to describe his reaction when he encountered Peyton instead. Her hair was down around her shoulders and once again she was wearing a dress, this one a dark blue—so blue it was almost black. Midnight, Lucas thought the color was called. It suited her, he decided.

Peyton pulled the door shut behind her. "I, uh… I rang the doorbell but no one…" she stopped, offering him a lopsided smile. "Well, because you were out here and obviously you couldn't hear me."

"I wasn't expecting…" Then, alarm set in, forcing Lucas to his feet. "Are the kids alright? Did something happen—?"

"What? Oh. No, no. They're fine, Luke. The girls are safely tucked away at school and Dillon's with Brooke. I just needed to talk to you. Alone."

Lucas was alarmed by the tone of her voice, but despite that, he said, "Okay," and waved to the chair beside him.

Peyton folded her dress under her before she settled onto the chair that he offered; Lucas lowered himself into the one he had been occupying. They were being cordial, that was a good sign. Maybe she wouldn't regret coming here after all. "I, um… I heard that you were thinking about leasing an apartment."

So this was the moment. The end. Haley was right; him getting his own place had sent Peyton a message—a message that he'd given up. Well, if it was a divorce that she wanted, then he was more than happy to give it to her. At least he would no longer be left wondering where he stood—he'd know. Yet, anger bubbled through him, prompting him to say, "I assume that I don't get a say in this."

Peyton stared at him blankly. What was he talking about? She was about to inquire about that when Lucas exploded from his chair. "Dammit, Peyton, you're going to give up, just like that," he said, snapping his fingers to drive home the point. "Eight years of marriage… and we're just going to throw it all away?"

Peyton didn't know what to say. Not because she didn't have anything to say, because she was confused. Slowly, she rose to her feet. "Lucas, I came here to fix things. I want you to come home so that we can figure things out." She paused, watched as the tension in his shoulders eased, the clouds in his eyes part. "You thought… you thought I wanted a _divorce_?" If the concept wasn't so absurd, she'd laugh.

"Don't make it sound so ridiculous. What was I supposed to think?"

"I'm not sure," she told him honestly. "Though I guess I haven't really given you any reason to hope for any other solution."

"No. You haven't."

Lucas could only imagine what it took for her to come here to him. He didn't know the agony that she'd gone through, the nights that she laid awake wondering what to do and how to do it. She'd lingered days over her decision to ask him to come home, fighting to find the perfect words, debating the necessity of her decision. Finally it all came down to one thing: she loved him. It was just that simple. She'd rather have him in her life, making her miserable, than watching him from afar, making someone else happy.

"You can't possibly know what it did to me when Brooke told me that you were searching for an apartment. I was angry at you, ridiculous as that sounds, but I… yet despite that—the pain and the anger, everything I'd been feeling since Christopher died—it felt like my heart was breaking. Not just a piece, but my whole heart. I thought that was it, that you were letting me go. And I refused to let you let me go. I didn't want to lose you. I _don't_ want to lose you, Lucas."

"But Christopher—"

"We'll have to come to terms with that. Together." She made an odd noise that made Lucas cock his head to the side and furrow his eyebrows. However, he said nothing in response. "Which we should have done in the first place."

Lucas stood up again, needing to do something, anything. It was impossible for him to sit still. He had so many questions. But was it imperative that he know how exactly Peyton had come to this decision? Did it really matter? She wanted him to come home, she didn't want to lose him. That was… he had no words for what that was or what it meant to him. Still, he didn't trust it. "I'm going to have to think about it."

Peyton pushed herself to her feet, holding on tightly to the straps of her purse. "I understand." She turned to leave, but stopped when Lucas grabbed hold of her hand. They both stilled in that moment, noting that she didn't pull away. If anything, she wanted him to pull her close, hold her. She'd denied herself that comfort, the strength of his embrace.

Lucas felt his heart doing a cartwheel in his chest, as if he'd just won the gold. Which, in a way, he had. He hadn't known why exactly he had reached out for her. Maybe it was to test her. After all, he had expected her to recoil as she'd done before, surprised that she didn't, that she hadn't. She was looking at him in awe now, as if she was just as shocked by her reaction as he was. And then, because he was curious, he pulled her closer.

Peyton went willingly, until she and Lucas were toe to toe, their breathing labored as they stared down at their clasped hands, as if neither of them could believe how far things were progressing, how quickly. "I don't—" he started to say, but the words died on his tongue.

"Me neither," she said, a little breathless.

Their fingers entwined. "You're shaking," he whispered, nudging her a little nearer.

Peyton nodded. "I'm afraid, Lucas. Letting you back in… I've fought against it everyday since Christopher died." When she looked up to meet his eyes, they were blurry with tears. "But I can't… I can't get through it alone. I can't lose you, too."

Lucas pulled her into his arms without another conscious thought. "I just need a few days," he murmured in her ear. He leaned back, holding her face between his hands, thumbs lightly caressing her cheeks as she asked, "Can you give me a few days?"

"I'll give you as much time as you need, Lucas. I don't care how long it takes you to decide to come home. Just _come home_."

—

Days later Lucas was standing on the Rivercourt with Skills, his decision to return home still unmade. He'd been on the court with Skills for over an hour, though his head wasn't on the game at hand. He could tell Skills was getting frustrated, but his friend refused to press him for details, something that he'd relegated to doing since Christopher and everything that had happened thereafter. "Peyton wants me to come home," he found himself saying, dribbling the ball as he did so.

Skills kept his opinion to himself for a moment—but for only a moment. As if sensing his friend's indecision, he pointed out, "That's what you want, right? What you've been waiting the last three months for?"

Lucas took his shot, frowning when the ball bounced off the rim and rolled until it was beside the front tire of his SUV. "Of course this is what I've wanted," he told Skills. "I miss her. I miss my children. But how do I know that on bad days she won't send me packing again?"

"You don't. It's like basketball, Luke. You take the shot even though you don't know where the ball is headed. It can bounce off the rim like your ball just did or it can go straight through, nothing but net. That's your gamble, the chance you take. In basketball, in life. You have to ask yourself if it's all worth it." Skills quieted for a second, let what he said sink in. Then he asked, "So, is it?"

Lucas didn't have to think twice about it. "Yeah, it's worth it."

"That's what I thought," Skills said, running to collect the ball. As he made his way back toward Lucas, he told his friend, "Now, can we _please_ play some ball. This is the only time Bevin lets me out of the house. I'd rather not waste it, letting you cry on my shoulder."

Lucas just grinned as the game proceeded.

Battling another night of insomnia, Peyton stood in the kitchen, stirring a mug of hot chocolate, thoughts of Lucas keeping her from attaining sleep. It'd been nearly a week since she'd gone to him, laid her heart at his feet and left their marriage in his hands. A freaking week and nothing. Oh, he'd come to collect the kids over the weekend, remained pleasant with her, but he gave her no hope to cling to, no hope at all.

Maybe she should take it as a sign. Perhaps there was no hope left to begin with and this distance, this indifference, was his answer. He was freezing her out, blatantly ignoring her to send her a message—that he was done, that their marriage was, indeed, over. Her hand shook as the thought took root. She didn't want to believe that. She _wouldn't_ believe that.

More importantly, she couldn't let herself believe it. After all, he'd nearly flipped out on her when she'd sought him out, concluding that she was going to ask for a divorce. It was ludicrous to believe that Lucas would want to end things when he had reacted badly to a possible ending himself.

Then again maybe the waiting was her punishment, for pushing him away, for kicking him out, for refusing his comfort following Christopher's death. Maybe this was payback for putting him through the ringer recently. That, she would understand.

Peyton slid onto a barstool, wrapping her hands around the bulk of her mug in an effort to warm her hands. She stared up at the clock on the wall, watching the hand move from 11:37 to 11:38, storing that time in her memory. A second later, as she was lifting her cup to her lips, she heard a noise, the unmistakable sound of a lock being turned, a door opening, the succinct sound of boots slapping against the hardwood floors. She sat still, waiting to see the evidence before she believed it was true.

Then, he was standing on the threshold between the kitchen and foyer, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and a pair of well worn jeans, staring at her as if waiting for an objection, her to yell at him to get out. The box he was holding dropped at his feet, As he straightened, he said, "I hope the offer still stands..."

Peyton stared at him for a moment, then let her excitement show as she quickly crossed the room to him. Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him tightly, fiercely, with all the love that was coursing through her that she wasn't quite ready to express.

Lucas closed his eyes, pulling her tight against him, fisting his hands in her hair. "I'm sorry I didn't come home sooner," he murmured in her ear.

Peyton pulled back then, searching his face. Lifting her hand, she touched his cheek, her fingertips dancing along his skin, the stubble that lined his jaw, across the dark circles under his eyes. "You shouldn't have left at all," she blurted out without thinking. Quickly, she amended, "I shouldn't have pushed you away, Luke. This is all my fault."

"It's all right. Peyton, everything is going to be all right," Lucas assured her. "Sure, it might not be right away, but we'll get there. It'll just take some time—and a _lot_ of patience."

She smiled up at him, enjoying the warmth that suffused her, the… the _happiness_. His optimism was catching. She felt invigorated by it, letting herself believe that what he said was true—that everything _was_ going to be all right. "I'm glad you're home, Luke."

"Me, too."

Peyton glanced at the box at her feet. "Do you need help bringing your stuff in?"

He grinned, kicking the box. "Nah. I only brought this. I wanted to make sure you hadn't changed your mind."

"Did you really think I would?" she couldn't help but ask.

Lucas just shrugged. "Honestly? Yeah, I did. I used to be able to gauge your every reaction, your every thought and motivation. But lately… lately it's like you're someone totally different. Not the woman I married."

"I'm sorry," Peyton apologized, bending down to grab up the box. She wanted to put it on the cabinet, out of their feet. Mostly she did it to distract herself from this conversation. She didn't like Lucas pointing out that she'd been behaving differently, that she'd changed over the course of their separation. Maybe it was true, but where did that leave them? If she had changed, was she still the woman that he'd fallen in love with and married?

Lucas took the box from her, sensing what she had planned. Placing it on the cabinet, he told her, "You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm not saying anything bad or criticizing you. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's like you're a whole different person. But don't get me wrong, I like this new Peyton, that there's new facets of you that I have to discover."

"Was there really so much wrong with the old Peyton? The woman that you fell in love with, might I remind you."

"There was nothing wrong with that Peyton. I loved that Peyton. But that Peyton let her grief take over her life. It made her weak. This Peyton… this Peyton is stronger for her grief."

"This Peyton," she said, "isn't finished grieving."

Lucas nodded his head as he dug into the box, pulling out his shaving kit, his eyeglass case and a book, setting them aside on the counter. "Precisely."

Peyton watched as Lucas scooped up his items and left the room without another word. As she busied herself with unpacking the rest of his box, she wondered if what Lucas had said was true, if she had changed. And if she had, what exactly did that mean—for herself and for her marriage.


	6. It Hurts To Want It So Bad

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: I'm screwing with pretty much everything in the OTH verse. For now if you've seen S1, you're golden.

Summary: AU. A one night stand blossoms into much more than Lucas and Peyton originally bargained for.

AN: I know I haven't updated since December. Honestly I didn't think it'd been that long! I never intended to let updates lapse that long, but here I am. This update isn't as long as I would have liked it to be, but I wanted to give you guys something since I left you hanging for so long. This chapter heavily focuses on the LP family dynamic, but mostly LP and their awkwardness. Feedback is much appreciated!

—

**06. It Hurts To Want It So Bad**

Lucas had grown accustomed to sleeping on the sofa. It didn't bother him. The sofa in his house was soft and comfortable unlike the block of plywood he'd endured every night while at Nathan and Haley's. Nothing beat his own house, his own furniture.

However, after two hours of sleeping in his bed the night he'd grown restless—for more reasons than he cared to count. He'd sought out his office first, gearing up his computer, settling down to work. That had been useless—he'd spent a half hour sitting in his chair, staring at the pictures that loitered his desk. His eyes had shifted from one picture to the next, taking in every nuance, every smile, every eye crinkle until his eyes had crossed and sleep had begun to overtake him.

Finally, he'd taken himself off to the living room, stretched out on the sofa with syndicated episodes of one of the CSIs… and promptly fallen asleep. Now as he woke, he was aware of the house bustling. The kids were awake and no doubt taking their breakfast in the kitchen. He wondered if Peyton had warned them of his presence, his return. As he scrubbed his face with his hands to orient himself, he realized that if his children knew that he was home, they would have attacked him and awakened him hours ago. He crossed the foyer to join them, amused as they all looked over at him, completely perplexed at the sight of him. Peyton hadn't said a word.

Becca, gawking at him, looked at her mother and asked, "Mom, is Dad here to pick us up?" Her spoon hung midair en route to her mouth.

Peyton nearly choked on her pancakes, so taken off-guard she was by the question. She hadn't thought about how she was going to explain Luke's homecoming to their children. Now presented with that predicament, she was at a loss on what to say, how to explain. Looking to Lucas, she mouthed, "Help me."

Scratching his head, Lucas made his way to the coffee pot, informing his daughter, "No, honey, I'm not here to pick you up. Your mom and I are making up." He looked at Peyton to see her reaction, but she just lifted her coffee cup, hiding a smile behind the rim, no doubt relieved that she didn't have to offer her own explanation.

"Really?" This came from Becca and Gilly, both spinning in their chairs to bestow him with excited grins.

"It wouldn't be fun of me to joke about that," he told them, reaching into the cupboard for a coffee mug only to find that where the coffee mugs were supposed to be, now held a vast array of Dillon's sippy cups. He turned to Peyton, eyebrow raised, question posed.

"Other side of the sink," Peyton supplied helpfully.

Becca's amusement faded quickly, Peyton noticed. Inquiring after Becca's sullen expression, Peyton reached for her hand, not knowing what to say when Becca told her, "Ashley's parents got back together after her mom's special friendship with Principal Cook. Now they're living apart and her dad's living with her grandma."

"Becca, let's not be so pessimistic," Lucas chastised his daughter. That pessimism she got from Peyton, he didn't doubt it for a second.

"What's that mean?" she asked, turning back toward Lucas.

"It means you're being a Sad Sally and thinking the worst."

"We don't want you to leave again, Daddy," Gilly told Lucas as he settled into a chair, resuming his seat at the head at the table. Dillon sat in his highchair to the right of Lucas and began pounding on his tray at once, making them all aware of his excitement at seeing his father.

Lucas ruffled his son's hair. "It's okay, buddy. Daddy's not going anywhere." He leaned over to nuzzle and playfully bite Dillon's neck, filling the room with the baby's delighted giggles.

"Okay, girls. The bus is almost here. Get your book sacks and tell your Dad bye," Peyton announced. Lucas expected moans and groans, but the girls dutifully got to their feet, albeit a little more reluctantly than he was accustomed.

Lucas pushed back his chair to afford himself room to envelop both his daughters in his arms. They smothered him with hugs, unrelenting in their affection until he promised that he'd be there when they returned from school that afternoon. "I'll be here. I may even have you girls a special treat."

"Books," the two said in unison. Gilly was much more delighted than Becca at the prospect of a new book to thumb through and subsequently add to her ever-expanding bookshelf.

After the two had vacated the room, leaving him alone with Peyton and Dillon, Lucas dropped back into his chair. "That went well."

"For them their prayers have been answered, Lucas. They've prayed for this every night since you left."

"I didn't know..."

Peyton smiled sympathetically. "I never told you. I never told you... a lot of things."

Lucas couldn't refute that fact. There were probably many things that were still unsaid between them, but those things weren't important at the moment. Pulling Dillon from his high chair, Lucas settled the toddler on his lap. He watched Peyton drop her gaze to stare into her coffee cup. Then she said, "You slept on the sofa last night."

Initially, Lucas didn't know what to say. He bounced Dillon on his knee in an attempt to ignore the accusation in her words. He took his time, sipping his coffee, setting Dillon back into his highchair when he made a grab for his bowl of grits. "I couldn't sleep."

Peyton licked her lips, hating that she felt rejected. When she woke that morning, alone in the bed, she thought that Lucas had left her, had made the decision himself this time and snuck off while she was sleeping. Then, she found him sprawled out on the sofa in the living room, sleeping soundly. She'd battled with the urge to wake him up with a cold glass of water on his face, but instead simply took herself off to the kitchen and started breakfast for their kids.

"I didn't banish you to the sofa."

"I know that."

Peyton was quickly becoming aggravated. She sighed. "I'm making an effort, Lucas. I asked you to come home. I'm trying."

"And you don't think I am? Christ, Peyton." Lucas shot to his feet, running a hand through his hair. She wasn't ready to know that he couldn't sleep in the same bed with her because he ached to touch her—physically _ached_. He wanted to hold her, forget all the shit that had happened for a little while. Peyton had always been his sun, his air, his everything. She still was, that much hadn't changed. His whole life he'd only ever wanted Peyton. He didn't want to tell her how wrecked his world was the months they'd been separated. She didn't need to know that; not now, possibly ever.

"Maybe it was presumptuous of me to think that we could make this work."

Lucas heard her chair scrape against the floor. He spun to face her. "Oh, no you don't. You don't get to do that, just throw in the towel because things aren't going the way you want them to."

"Do you know what message it sent that you slept on the sofa, Lucas? That you couldn't bear to share our bed… that you don't want to be close to me."

"Dammit, Peyton, if I wanted to be any closer to you, we'd be Siamese twins!" he yelled, unable to help himself. He watched her open her mouth, fighting for words. "I want you and that's why I couldn't sleep in bed last night. It was just… hard." Beneath his breath, he muttered, "In more ways than one."

"Oh," Peyton gasped, completely bereaved of speech.

Lucas scowled, irritated. "That's it? That's all you're going to say? I tell you I want you and all you have to say in response is _'Oh'_?"

"Well... What I meant to say was... Thank you."

"Thank you?" Lucas repeated. He'd expected yelling, recoiling. Definitely not gratitude. He didn't know how to react, what to say. Manners encumbered him to reply with, "You're welcome." However, he felt like a moron for saying it.

Lifting Dillon from his chair, Peyton declared, "I have to get him ready for daycare." Before she could quit the room entirely, she turned back to tell her husband, "From now on you sleep in our bed, Lucas. I won't have it any other way." She didn't see the smug grin that washed across his face as she carried Dillon out of the room.

—

Peyton had just wrapped up a call with a potential artist when Brooke bounced into the room, vibrating with excitement. "So, did I hear it right? Lucas is home?"

"I should've known you'd be here to plague me about that," Peyton said, sliding out of her chair. She joined Brooke on the sofa on the other side of the room, telling her best friend, "Yes. He's home."

"Wow. That's… _wow_. I'm so happy for you. For both of you." Brooke flashed Peyton an odd, concerned look. "Are you okay, honey? You seemed distressed."

Peyton hated complaining about her marriage. In recent months, she had done nothing but that and hated to burden Brooke further. She knew though if she expressed her agony, Brooke would simply tell her that she was being silly—that's what best friends were for. Sighing, she began, "He slept on the sofa last night."

"Oh. Well. Maybe he was just accustomed to it. He has spent quite a few nights bunking on Nathan and Haley's, after all." When Peyton started to reply, Brooke hastily added, "You can't expect everything to be hunky dory overnight, Peyton; not after all the time the two of you have spent apart, the loss you've suffered."

"You know he told me I was different, that I had changed. Apparently I'm not the same Peyton."

"There's nothing wrong with that. I would be over the moon if Owen told me that I had changed. Maybe then, he'd stop calling me spoiled and vapid."

Peyton shook her head, interrupting Brooke before she could make it about _her_. "If I'm different, Brooke, am I still the same woman that he loves?"

"Peyton, we all change, at some time or another. Lucas will love you no matter what. I know that, you should know that, too. That man worships the ground you walk on."

Did he? She couldn't tell of recently. How had they allowed everything to get so muddled after Christopher's death? How had two people who could finish each other's sentences, who never tired of one another's company, suddenly become strangers? Could they get their marriage back or were they just fighting a losing battle?

"You can't expect everything to fall back into place with a snap of your fingers now that Lucas has come home. It'll take time for you to get readjusted to him and him to you. You're finding problems where there are none, Peyton."

She knew that Brooke was right, but could she be patient enough while she and Lucas adjusted to each other again?

—

When Peyton got home from work, the house was quiet. Eerily so. At four in the afternoon, the children should've been yelling and screaming at each other. The TV should have been blaring. Instead there was silence. Moving towards the back of the house, she peeked into Lucas's office, surprised to find it empty. She continued on back to the French doors that led out into the backyard. Pushing open the blinds, she found her husband and children in the backyard.

Lucas was sitting on one of the swings with Dillon on his lap. Becca sat beside him in the other swing with Gilly to her left on the slide. They were having a conversation, it seemed. Peyton had no doubt that they were plaguing him about his time spent away and what they were to expect now that he was home. God knew they had plagued her with enough questions during the separation.

Leaving them be, Peyton moved to the kitchen to start dinner. She was cutting up carrots when Lucas entered the kitchen, Dillon toddling along at his side. "Look, Dill, Mama's home."

Dillon made no move toward Peyton. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Luke's legs and refused to let go. "The novelty will wear off and I'll be back in his good graces, of that I have no doubt."

Hefting his son into his arms, Lucas asked, "How long have you been back?"

"Not long. I saw you in the backyard with them and didn't want to intrude."

"Your presence may have helped." He dug into his back pocket, extracting a sheet of paper.

"What's this?" Peyton asked as Lucas held it out to her.

"A letter from Gilly's teacher. Apparently a boy tried to kiss her on the playground and she walloped him between the legs," Lucas said, wincing upon the thought of his daughter wreaking havoc on a poor boy's genitals. Poor kid. However, his daughter insisted that he deserved his "smackdown".

Peyton gasped as she took the paper from him and quickly read over the note. "They suspended her? She's six!" she exclaimed as she neared the bottom of the letter. "They want her to _think about what she's done_ for _three days_. THREE DAYS, Lucas! How are you not more upset by this?"

"She's six, Peyton. Stuff like this happens. They see it on TV and they repeat it. Sure, the playground is no place for her to go all The Rock on a classmate, but kids will be kids."

"No, it's because of us. This is happening because of us, because we aren't stable."

"You can't know that. That may be Gilly's… reflex."

Peyton looked at him in horror. "You're saying that our daughter's first instinct will be to kick boys in the balls? What if she does it to Dillon? What then? She could have damaged this boy for _life_."

"Have you seen her foot? It's a dainty little thing, hardly incapable of disarming a small boy."

Peyton tamped down the impulse to throw a carrot stick at him. Their six-year-old daughter was suspended from school and he was downplaying it. Although, she shouldn't be surprised. After all, they were talking about Gilly. "If Becca had done the same thing would you still be brushing it off?" she asked, aware that he held a small preference for their youngest daughter.

Lucas threw her a scowl. "Are you saying that I demonstrate favorites between my children?"

"I never said anything to the contrary," Peyton insisted.

"But you implied it!"

"Be that as it may, isn't it true?"

Lucas disentangled Dillon from his legs, picked him and carried him over to Peyton. "I don't have to listen to this _in my own damn house_," he spat at her as he pushed Dillon into her arms, his body vibrating with barely concealed anger.

"Where the hell are you going?" she yelled after him as he began making his way toward the door.

"Away," he snarled over his shoulder.

"I'm cooking dinner."

"Then, cook. You and the kids need to eat. I've lost my appetite."

As Lucas threw open the door, Peyton inquired, "When can I expect you back?"

"I don't know." The door slammed shut behind him.

Ashamed at herself, Peyton pulled Dillon close, kissing his cheek. It was then that she became aware of her daughters loitering out in the hallway, having witnessed her and Lucas arguing. They both threw her well-deserved scowls, and then took off up the stairs. "Great. Now they hate me, too." Peyton set her son on the cabinet, smoothing back his blonde hair, caressing his soft cheek. "Mama's bad, isn't she?"

"Bad," Dillon agreed.

Grinning, albeit sadly, Peyton nodded. "Yeah, buddy. I know."

—

Returning just after midnight, Lucas realized that Peyton had been waiting up for him, spotting her in the living room as he was making his way toward the staircase. He had spent the last few hours down at the Rivercourt. For a long time he had sat in his SUV, staring at the waterfront, trying to decide whether to return home or not. He refused to call it quits after just a day. He owed his children more than that.

He stepped into the living room, prepared to apologize for storming out when Peyton surprised him with an apology of her own. She unfolded herself from the chair by the window, quickly telling him, "I didn't mean to tear into you like that… or accuse you the way I did. I know you love Becca and Dillon as much as you love Gilly. _I know that._ I just—"

"I don't deny that Gilly and I are close," he interjected. "I never have, Peyton. She's… I've always felt a kinship with her that I don't with Becca. I can't explain it, but I won't stand by and let you accuse me of loving her more than Becca and Dillon, either. I won't."

"You took up for her. You acted as if what she did didn't matter."

"Of course it mattered. I didn't just sweep it under the rug as you accused. I withheld her surprise and believe me she was plenty remorseful."

Peyton smiled at him. "Becca told me."

"So you know that I told Gilly that she doesn't get her books until she goes back to school and apologizes to the boy?" She nodded. "You know, Peyton, I may lean a little more in Gilly's favor, but I still administer her punishments." He waved a hand between them. "This was never a problem before. You never questioned me or my parenting."

"I know," Peyton breathed. "It was a weird day. I was just…"

"It's because I told you that I wanted you," he realized.

"Did you honestly think that wouldn't mess with my head?"

"Jesus, Peyton. You're my wife. It shouldn't be news to you that I desire you. For Pete's sake we had four children."

"A fact I'm very well aware of, thank you."

Lucas started to approach her, but at the last minute moved in the opposite direction. Staring out the window into the dark night, he told her, "Every night we were apart I thought about you. Holding you. Touching you. I would close my eyes and remember how your skin smelled, how soft it was, what it was like to be inside you… Sometimes I thought it'd be better if I could forget. I drunk myself into a stupor a few times to see if I could, if it was possible."

"And was it?" she inquired curiously.

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "You're in my blood, Peyton. You're a part of me and always will be."

Peyton stared at him, astounded. Twice in one day, Lucas had bared his feelings to her. If she hadn't known how he felt about her before, she definitely knew now. How could he still love and desire her after all they had been through, after all the months they'd spent apart? She couldn't even begin to put her feelings into words and here he was giving these big, emotional speeches.

"Lucas, I-I-I don't know…"

Lucas tried to smile but he was tired of putting on a brave face. Every rejection was beginning to eat away at him. He knew when he'd made the decision to come home that things wouldn't return to how they'd been within the first week, hell he knew he'd be asking for a lot to think that things would be looking up within a month. No, he knew how fragile his wife still was and he didn't want to pressure her, but dammit _she'd_ wanted him home. What more did she expect?

"It's okay. It doesn't matter." He sighed, resigned. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." He expected her to follow suit but when she didn't he turned to look back at her. "You coming?"

"I'll be up later. You go on ahead."

Peyton watched as Lucas left the room, listened as he ascended the stairs. She waited until she'd heard the shower turn on before she slid down to the floor, crying for the mess that her life had become—the mess she'd made herself.


	7. Flirting With the Tiniest Notion

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings. LP NH BO

—

**07. Flirting With the Tiniest Notion**

In the weeks that followed Peyton and Lucas settled into a routine. Their children were ecstatic to have him home so she'd left daycare drop-off and after school pick up to Lucas choosing to focus on her label and the interference that Mia's acting career was wreaking on her music career.

She'd grown accustomed to Luke's presence, sharing her bathroom and her bed, sometimes waking up in his arms, his knee between her legs, his nose buried in her hair. She cherished those mornings, reveling in them until Lucas woke and she feigned sleep. She didn't want him to catch her smiling as she wished for something that may never be.

He never asked for more than she was willing to give, even one night when they'd gathered in the den and watched a movie together. During the penultimate love scene, they'd looked at each other awkwardly from their sides of the sofa. There was no doubt that they were both feeling the effects of the lack of sex in their relationship. Yet neither of them attempted to rectify the situation. Things were going good. Sex would muck it up. She had no doubt about that.

When she woke that morning, Peyton knew that she was alone in bed the second her eyes opened. Her husband's familiar weight was gone, leaving the bed lighter and her feeling abandoned yet again.

Donning her robe she headed downstairs. She headed straight for the living room, expecting to find Lucas sprawled out on the sofa. It was empty. She peeked out the window to see if his SUV was in the drive, but it was still there. That left his study. Backtracking, she headed toward the back of the house where his study was located; the door was shut.

Pushing it open, she found Lucas there, asleep at his desk, his head resting beside his keyboard. She crossed to the room, touching his shoulder, shaking him softly. "Luke, Luke…"

His head snapped up at once, a little disoriented at first. "Peyton?" he questioned, blinking at her in an obvious attempt to compose himself. "What time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"It's almost eight. You fell asleep in your office."

"Don't be ridiculous," he told her. Then, he looked around and murmured, "Oh. So I did."

"Did you get some writing done?"

Lucas stood up to stretch out his limbs as he boasted, "Three chapters." Man, his neck hurt like a bitch. Note to self: do not sleep on desk, not comfortable. He wouldn't do that again. Next time he'd take himself off to his bed with his laptop and fall asleep like normal people did—in his bed with his computer on his lap.

"Luke, that's great!" she said, pleased that his muse was cooperating. It was such a fickle thing, sometimes, for writers. Some days they could write ten pages and other days they were lucky if they could write ten words. Three chapters was a feat!

"Insomnia is good for something now and again, I guess." As he cracked bones that were stiff and aching, he told her, "This time was different than the last time that I didn't sleep in bed. Honest."

"Inspiration struck and it had to be appeased. I get it. Don't worry about it. Are you hungry?" His stomach growled at the mere mention of food. "I guess that's my answer." Lucas watched as she headed toward the door, announcing, "I'll go start breakfast." At the door, she stopped to remind him, "I'm taking the girls shopping with Haley and Brooke today so you'll have to watch Dillon."

Lucas waited until the door closed before he uttered, "Fuck."

—

It was just after nine in the morning when Lucas took refuge outside, eager to be out of Peyton's vicinity and the war that she was waging with their daughters. By the time they'd had breakfast, Peyton realized that they were running late. The girls, not early to rise, wanted to spend their Saturday morning in front of the television and blatantly ignored their mother when she instructed them to go on upstairs and get dressed. The yelling had started soon thereafter which was why he was outside now. He had just sat down on the steps with his coffee when Haley pulled into the driveway.

"You look like hell," Haley commented, as she climbed out of her car, joining Lucas on the steps.

"Nice to see you, too, Hales," he remarked dryly, taking a sip of his coffee. "I don't think Peyton's ready. She and the girls were…having a disagreement last I checked."

A mother of a young girl herself, Haley understood. "Ah. Bethy and I had one of those, uh, disagreements ourselves this morning."

"How'd you compromise?"

"We didn't. I slipped her a five dollar bill and promised her a new doll." Lucas laughed, smothering a yawn at the same time. "Something tells me that you're not in babysitter mood today."

Lucas nodded, acquiescing. "Pretty astute, aren't you? I would be if I wouldn't have stayed up until six this morning writing." He wished Peyton would've reminded him about the shopping excursion. Maybe then he would've told his muse to take a nap and he could've gotten the appropriate amount of rest that would render him able to parent his two year old properly. Without several pots of coffee he had no doubt that he'd be napping with Dillon quite often today.

"The new novel is going somewhere, I take it."

He scoffed. "Go ahead and say it. You know you want to."

_"Finally."_ She grinned at him, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Seriously, though. I'm proud of you, Luke. That you kept yourself occupied with work the last few months. I know that I hid it well, but I was worried about you."

"I know you were. Peyton and I are lucky that you, Brooke, and everybody cared about us so much. I hate to think what would've happened to us without you guys."

"Obviously, we would've had you committed to a mental hospital for your porn addiction and we would've married Peyton off to the mailman. He is looking pretty hot these days, you know."

"Why are we friends again?"

Hearing the door open behind him, he and Haley turned as Peyton poked her head out the door. "Haley! Hey. How long have you been here?"

"A few minutes."

"Is he bothering you? Lucas, you better not put her in a bad mood."

"I love the faith the two of you have in me," he grumbled.

Standing up, Haley asked Peyton, "So, you ready? We still have to swing by Brooke's and you know Brooke, she's always running late."

"Let me just hustle up the girls. Last I checked Becca was helping Gilly find her shoes."

After Peyton disappeared back into the house, Haley turned back to Lucas. "You know you could always go and hang out with Nathan. He and Jamie are going to spend the day in front of the TV with the Wii."

"Tempting, but I don't think so. I think Dill and I are going to stay home. Play with blocks. Eat Play Doh. Watch endless amounts of Wonder Pets. Fun stuff."

"Sounds like. However will you control yourself?"

Lucas shrugged. "I haven't the faintest idea." He struggled to his feet, pouring the remainder of his coffee into Peyton's rose bush.

"She would skin you alive if she saw you do that," Haley teased as she followed him inside.

"She won't know if you don't tell her," he whispered as Haley shut the door behind them. They walked into the kitchen, finding Becca sitting at the table, silently staring at the back of a box of Trix. "What you doing?" he asked, brushing a kiss atop her head. "Where's Mom?"

"Upstairs with Dillon and Gilly."

At that moment, Peyton walked into the kitchen, Dillon perched on her hip, her purse tucked beneath her arm. "All set?" he asked as Peyton handed Dillon off to him.

"He's been fed and changed. I've been looking for Nippy, but I can't find him."

"I found him!" Gilly declared as she ran into the room, brandishing Dillon's pacifier with its Nippy the Bear holder. She handed it to her brother who hastily scooped it up, pulling it to his chest with a delighted squeal. "Can we go now?" she directed the question at Haley.

Peyton pressed a kiss to Dillon's cheek then leaned over to brandish the same goodbye to Lucas. He moved his head at the same moment and their lips met. She should have been shocked, dismayed; she was neither. She took a step back but Lucas cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, swallowing her gasp with his mouth.

They were blind to their audience, their children, to everything but this little stolen moment, this little step forward that they were taking. They heard whispers and shuffling and were cognitively aware of the toddler between them. When Lucas attempted to pull Peyton closer, Dillon let out a cry of distress. They pulled apart.

Lucas bounced Dillon, soothing him as he stared over his son's head at his wife. She hadn't moved away and had that dreamy look in her eyes, the same that had overtaken his entire body. He watched as she touched her mouth with her fingertips, fighting back a smile as she told him, "You ruined my lipstick."

A genuine laugh escaped his mouth, prompting him to snicker, "Don't expect me to apologize for it."

Silence fell between them for a moment, and then Peyton gasped, "You surprised me."

"Well, you kissed me first."

"And you deepened it."

"Need I point out that you didn't pull away?"

Sighing, Peyton knew that there was no denying it. She wanted her husband. He could've kissed her nose and she would've wept with happiness. They'd been sleeping in the same bed for the better part of a month and in that time she'd been hoping, praying really, for Lucas to make a move, to pull her into his arms, sooth her with his kisses and his touch. She'd lie in bed and remember the last time they made love. It'd been a night or two before Christopher's death and it'd been hard and fast, not slow and languid like they both preferred. "I'm not made of wood, Lucas. I feel. I…want."

"Do you?" he murmured.

She recognized that murmur, that tone. It was his say-anything-more-and-you'll-be-on-the-f

loor-with-your-legs-in-the-air tone. She swallowed. A second time for good measure. "Haley's waiting for me." She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.

"We'll have to talk about it, Peyton."

She glanced over her shoulder. "I thought we just did."

"I meant alone. Tonight."

The scared part of her yearned to find an excuse, tell him that a kiss didn't mean anything. She knew that wasn't true. This was them, Lucas and Peyton. A kiss meant _everything_. She simply nodded, agreeing, "Tonight," before she left the room to join Haley and her daughters, both anticipating and dreading the night that awaited her.

—

Lucas was sitting in the living room reading when Peyton arrived home, a sleeping Gilly in her arms, Becca barely awake beside her. Quickly, he bookmarked his page and ran to help his wife, taking Gilly from her. "Daddy, I'm sleepy," his daughter informed him as he settled her against his chest.

"I know, honey. Daddy's gonna get you upstairs and into bed."

"Don't forget to spray the monsters," she told him groggily as he began to ascend the stairs.

Lucas knew that Peyton was right behind him, helping Becca climb each step. Stopping, he turned to his wife, "You want me to carry her?"

Peyton shook her head. "No, no. We're fine. She's easier to settle than Gilly. Besides you have monsters to exterminate."

He smiled and resumed his journey to the second floor. There he went right and Peyton went left into the girl's respective rooms. They had discussed putting the two of them in one room, but Becca had objected, no doubt to her sister's insistence about the monsters that lived in the closet, under her bed and watched her sleep from the tree outside the window.

Lucas pulled back Gilly's pink striped sheets and laid his daughter down for a moment to gather her pajamas. He gently removed her stockings and dress and managed to get her nightgown over her head without waking her. After pressing a kiss to her forehead, he grabbed the monster repellant and did his duty. Gilly used woke screaming like a banshee when he didn't. At the door, he stopped to stare at his daughter for a long moment before he made his way to his bedroom, his feet heavy with each step.

Peyton was already there, he could hear her in the bathroom. Before he could do anything, even gather his thoughts, she walked out, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, her face scrubbed clean. She hadn't yet changed out of the dress she'd left in that morning; the satiny floral fabric clung to her as he longed to.

She didn't speak as she moved to the chest of drawers and began rummaging for her own pajamas. Peyton pushed aside cotton nightshirts and lacy nighties, finding fault and dissatisfaction with each one. After a few minutes, she shut the drawer, her hands empty. "This is ridiculous." She turned to him. "I'm nervous as hell, Lucas," she admitted, her hands shaking. "I don't…I don't know what I want. I mean, I do. Of course I do. I just don't know if I'm strong enough to let myself have it."

"Well. That's fair."

"Is it?" She sincerely doubted it.

"Peyton, you know that I want you. That kiss this morning…it was more than I expected. I'm grateful I got that much."

"I'm not leading you on, Lucas. And if it feels like I am, I don't mean to be that way."

He shrugged. "I'll admit that it's not easy sleeping with you and being around you without…but I manage. I sleep on my hands. I… take care of it myself, when it comes to that." She shot him a look and he met it head on. He wasn't ashamed of the fact. He should be, but he wasn't. He was being respectful. He was waiting for her to come to him. "I'm not going to goad you into it. It wouldn't be any fun if I had to do that. When you want me, you know where to find me."

"And if I said I wanted you now, tonight?"

Normally he wouldn't second-guess her; after all, Peyton had always been absolute in what she wanted. She was different now. Losing Christopher and nearly losing their marriage had changed her. He had to tread carefully even if he'd have to spend another month relieving the burn with his hand. A little reluctantly, he said, "I'd say you're probably doing it for my benefit and tell you that it's not necessary."

"But maybe we should just get it over with?"

He scowled at her. "You make it sound like a school bake sale that you have to suffer through. Thanks."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," she assured him. "It's just…the last time…the last time I remember how perfect everything was. Christopher was still alive and there wasn't this…this awkwardness between us."

"Yeah. We certainly didn't have to chat about sex. We just had it."

"Precisely my point. We should just have it. If you want to."

"That's like asking me if I want to breathe, Peyton," he said through clenched teeth.

Right. He was a man. A man who hadn't had sex in…_months_. She didn't want to ask, but she had to. "While we were apart…you didn't…?"

His temper flared for a moment but he subdued it. How could she even ask him that? She was being safe, though. He couldn't begrudge her that. If he'd thought for a second that she'd…while they'd been separated… He banished the thought with a shake of his head. Just the thought threatened to undo him. "No. I didn't. I wanted you." He smiled that boyish smile of his that she loved so much. "I want you." Slowly, Lucas crossed the room watching with amusement as Peyton backed up, finding herself trapped against the bureau. "Nothing has to happen that you're not ready for," he told her as he stopped in front of her.

Peyton sighed. "Maybe we should ease into it."

He smiled triumphantly. "We don't have to have sex. We could just…play."

"Monopoly or Jenga," she quipped, aware that he wasn't talking about board games.

"Oh, Monopoly. Definitely."

"Can I be the banker?" His right eyebrow lifted. "Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200."

She expected him to say something crass, something sexual. She didn't expect him to say, "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked, honestly confused.

"For letting me come home. For giving us another chance. For…all sorts of things."

"I was wrong about a lot, Lucas. I realize that now. I wanted answers. I wanted a reason why our baby was dead and the cops and the coroner couldn't give me one. So I lashed out. I needed someone to blame and that someone turned out to be you. I was horrible to you."

He shook his head. "No. No, you weren't—"

"Yes, I was. I was mean and unyielding and I pushed you away. I made a mess of everything." She broke away from him, eager to confess the feelings that had been toiling about inside her. It wasn't the same kind of confession about love and passion that Lucas had expressed recently, but she'd get there. For now she had to explain. He had to know that it wasn't him…that it was her.

"When I think about those months that you were gone…my God. You could've…you could've had an affair. You could've filed for divorce. You could've done so many things just to hurt me, as I know I hurt you." She faced him, finding him staring at her, his face gone white. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"How come you didn't…?"

Lucas knew what she was asking. "I thought about it. I didn't want either of us to be miserable. But I loved you. Even when you were ignoring me or being as mean to me as you could be, I soothed my pride with the overwhelming love that I have for you. In the end, I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't go to a lawyer and tell him to dissolve our marriage because I didn't want it dissolved. I wanted us, our family. But if that's what you wanted, I wouldn't contest, I wouldn't fight. If you were happier without me, then, well, at least you'd be happy. At the time I would've died to see you smile again."

Peyton smiled, just for him, because he made her happy. Smiling wasn't enough. She wanted to _show_ him how happy he made her. She wanted to show him that he hadn't lost her, that he wouldn't. That she loved him. She reached for the hem of her dress, lifting it over her head. Lucas said not a word. Not when the dress fell at his feet or when she turned off the lights. However, when she reached behind her back for the clasp of her bra, he held out his hand and growled, "Wait."

"If you turn me down, so help me _God_…"

Laughing, Lucas said, "No, no," as he crossed the room toward her. Stopping in front of her, he cocked his head to the side, studying her, before asking, "Unless you were aiming to do a striptease? Because if so, the floor is yours." He said this with a step back and a flourish of his hand.

"Would you like a striptease?"

"I've had my fair share of stripteases over the last few weeks, thank you very much."

Her eyes bugged. "I have _not_!" she exclaimed, outraged.

"Not purposefully, no. To my utter disappointment."

Her hands on her hips, she said, "This is a one-time offer, Lucas. Going once. Going twice." She waved. "Oh, there it goes."

Lucas hauled her into his arms, smothering a laugh as she squealed. "Liar. I can get you to strip for me if I so choose."

"You think so? Who do you think you are, buddy?"

"I'm your husband."

His playful mood was contagious. "You're too tall to be my husband. Promise you won't tell him about this?"

"Why? Is he the jealous type?"

"The worst."

"It's because he loves you so much."

The tenderness in his voice, in his eyes, broke something inside Peyton, her defenses, that last wall that separated them. "I love you, too."

Then he was kissing her, ravaging her mouth with a need that consumed him. Wrapping her tight in his arms, Lucas lifted her and carried her to the bed, his mouth never leaving hers. He laid her down atop the blankets, not bothering to strip the bed or move them out of the way. He covered her body with his, taking care not to abrade her soft skin with his clothes. Her hands were at his waist, simply resting, then they were coasting up his back, taking his shirt with them. They stopped kissing long enough for her to throw his shirt over the side of the bed.

Lucas rolled them over so that Peyton was looming above him. He was in awe as she pulled out her ponytail, her curls flowing free and around her shoulders. "Wow," he gasped. As if that wasn't enough to render him speechless, she reached around her back and unclasped her bra. "Tell me I'm not dreaming."

"You're not dreaming."

"Good. Because if I am… don't wake me up." He sat up, one arm curving around her back, tongue flitting out to flick her pebbled nipple. "Mmm. Just like I remember."

Peyton groaned, grinding against him. "Luke…"

"Shh. Just let me…"

She huffed. "Fine. If you insist."

He flipped her onto her back, amused when she took the chance to pop the button on his jeans and slid the zipper down. "Well. All you had to do was ask." She tried to snake her hand inside, but he grabbed her wrists and held them to the bed. "Do that and this'll be over in two seconds."

"But—" she started.

"I waited. Now it's your turn."

She scowled up at him. A scowl that quickly turned into a leer. The sudden change shocked him until he realized that she was up to something. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him down on top of her. Her lips landed at his ear, licking, nibbling. He tried to pull away, but the moan that escaped his lips already told his wife that she was successful in her endeavor. He heard her giggle even as he felt her open his jeans wide, her small hand reaching inside to wrap her fingers around his swollen length.

"Peyton…_please_…"

"Please, what?"

Lucas couldn't think properly. _"Please."_

Indulging him, she held him firmly and slowly began to stroke. Up, down, up, down. Peyton didn't increase her momentum until Lucas asked, hell he practically begged. To help the process along, she leaned up to nibble his ear, but it had the opposite effect. Instead of a moan, Lucas growled. He pushed her hands away, flattening her back against the mattress. He yanked at her panties and when his efforts were hindered by their entangled limbs, he simply tore them.

"Those were my favorite panties!" she exclaimed as he tossed the silky scraps over his shoulder.

"Like you don't have a whole drawer full." Lucas leapt off the bed long enough to shuck his pants, then he was lying atop Peyton, pushing her thighs open with his knee, his hand snaking between. He touched her softly, just to make sure that she was ready for him. He grinned down at her.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself."

Lucas kissed Peyton to quiet her, sliding inside of her as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. She was warm and wet and…home. Overwhelmed, he stopped to stare at her. Peyton kept her eyes trained on him, breathless and confused. "Tell me you won't regret this in the morning."

"I won't."

"I don't think I could bear it, Peyton."

Peyton expelled a frustrated sigh that felt odd yet delightful considering their precarious position. "Am I going to have to goad _you_ into this?"

"You might have to. I'm feeling some reservations."

"You're feeling some—" Peyton repeated even as he pulsed and lengthened inside her. "If you're having second thoughts, I'm going to sleep." She attempted to sit up, but he pushed her back with a hand to her chest.

"I don't think so. I'm not finished with you."

"How could you be finished? You never started."

It was as if no time had passed, like nothing had changed, Lucas mused as he pulled out only to thrust back in a moment later. They shelved conversation and surrendered to passion, Peyton's moans and pants inciting his own desires.

Peyton came hard and fast, surprising them both with the scream that emitted from her throat. Lost in the moment, she sunk her teeth into Luke's shoulder, prompting his own release.

Sated, they lay together, the room silent aside from their breathless pants. Lucas looked at his wife, beautifully disheveled and clearly spent. "So?"

"What? You're not expecting a score, are you?"

He laughed. "No, of course not." Then, "But if you have one I'm happy to hear it."

Peyton smacked his arm, playfully, feeling light and, above else, happy. She ran her fingers over his shoulder, where she'd bit him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…did it hurt?"

"It was a good kind of pain." He fell to his back beside her, breathing deeply. "Are you sleepy?"

Peyton shook her head, smiling wickedly as she climbed atop him. "Not at all."


	8. Learning How to Let Go

Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: I'm screwing with pretty much everything in the OTH verse. For now if you've seen S1, you're golden.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings. LP NH BO

Notes: I found that while writing this chapter, everything seemed final. God knows I've been ready to finish this story for awhile now. However, I didn't want to rush to the finish line. I wanted it to end slowly and happily but just right. I didn't want to drag it on and throw in unnecessary drama. Lucas and Peyton have had their fair share in the last eight chapters. Everything is in its right place. And that's the way I'm going to leave it. I want to thank you all who reviewed and supported this story through all the angst and drama and the long lapses between updates. I hope you enjoy how it ends.

—

**08. Learning How to Let Go**

Peyton awoke to the sound of ruckus and a crying baby. Jolting upright, she looked beside her, but Lucas was already gone. And she was still naked. Gasping, Peyton ran across the room as much as she was able. Muscles that had been neglected the months of her separation, protested. Yet the aching and numbness made her smile. Pulling a shirt over her head, she grinned to herself, remembering the night she and Lucas had spent together. How had they gone without each other for so long? Before Christopher's death, they had been unable to keep their hands off of one another, which was probably why they'd had four children.

She pulled on panties and a pair of lounge pants and headed out of the room. The TV was blaring in the living room but it was empty. The kitchen, however, was a disaster area. Dillon was screaming and kicking in his high chair, Cheerios strewn all over the floor. Becca and Gilly were fighting over the prize from a cereal box and Lucas was on the phone, attempting to carry on his conversation despite the racket. He shot her a grateful glance, mouthing, "It's your father."

Peyton lifted Dillon out of high chair and he calmed at once, trying to feed her the cereal that was crushed in his palm. She shook her head, encouraging him to eat it as she crossed to Lucas and held out her hand for the phone. Lucas shook his head, continuing his conversation. "Yes, sir. I understand. No, I know I can't do better, sir." Peyton watched and listened carefully, nodding her agreement. Meanwhile, Dillon attempted to pawn his cereal off on Lucas. Lucas declined the cereal but gnawed on his son's hand playfully, relishing in the laugh that echoed through the kitchen. "We look forward to it." Lucas hung up the phone, enclosing it in his fist as he stomped across the room to glare at his daughters. He took the toy that Becca and Gilly were fighting over, opened the back door and threw it outside. "Now, nobody gets it."

The girls looked at him for a minute, and then returned their attention to their breakfast, chagrined.

"That was a little harsh," Peyton murmured, touching his shoulder to discourage the glower that he was directing at the girls.

"They were screaming like banshees. I could barely hear your dad screaming at _me_." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry if the noise woke you. I tried to get them under control, but…"

Peyton insisted, "I'd slept long enough. What did he say?"

"Your dad? Oh, he's coming to visit."

"What?" Peyton screeched. "Did he say why?"

Lucas shrugged. "I just know that he yelled at me for twenty minutes for being a worthless son-of-a-bitch, walking out on you and the kids after what had just happened to Christopher. Then he reminded me of what a good thing I had, that I wouldn't find anyone, anything better than you, than what we have."

"My dad's a smart man."

"The smartest." He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss inside her palm. "How are you this morning?"

"Good. A little stiff in places, but good. Really good."

"I'm glad." He looked hesitant, yet hopeful. "No regrets?"

Peyton quickly assured him, "Not a one. So when's my dad going to be here?"

Lucas reached for his coffee cup, telling her, "Oh, he's in town already. He was calling from the motel. He wants to take us out to dinner."

"Good God. A little advanced warning would've been nice."

"You're telling me," Lucas said, taking a sip from his coffee mug. The shrill ring of the phone pierced the silence once again. "You answer it. I don't think I can handle your dad again."

Laughing, Peyton grabbed the phone off the counter as Lucas settled at the table with his daughters, asking, "So who was the toy _really_ for?"

—

"This is going to be a disaster," Lucas told Peyton as he walked into the bathroom, buttoning his striped navy dress shirt.

"It will not be. Everything's going to be fine. Once Daddy sees that I'm smiling and happy again the two of you will be back to talking about literature and cracking jokes. Relax."

"Relax?" he repeated. "How the heck can I relax when he told me that I broke you?"

Peyton dropped her blush brush into her bag and faced her husband, suddenly angry with her father. "He told you that?"

"Not in so many words, but the implication was there."

"Lucas…"

He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub. "A lot has gone wrong in our marriage the last few months, Peyton."

"That may be true but we're in a really good place right now."

Her optimism, the happiness radiating off her, tugged at his heart. "I love you, Peyton and every time you look at me as you are right now…it's a gift."

"You sound like you're trying to tell me something, Lucas."

He shook his head. "Just…thank you."

She didn't know what he was thanking her for, but it didn't matter. She leaned down to kiss him, softly, briefly. They were due to meet her dad in a half-hour and if she lingered there was no telling what would happen or how late they would be.

She returned to the mirror to finish her makeup. "You know, I find it odd that Brooke and Owen were busy tonight. Usually they jump at the chance to have the kids over."

"Not all of them, at the same time. They're not that foolish." She shot him a look. "Hey I love them, but sometimes they're handfuls." Coughing, he said, "I'm sure they had a dinner date or something."

"I'm sure you're right," she conceded as Lucas waltzed out of the bathroom, whistling to himself. She stared after him, agape.

—

"Promise me you won't let him yell at me too much," Lucas told Peyton as he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. They were making their way up the sidewalk to the restaurant where they were meeting her father. He was nervous for reasons that had squat to do with Larry.

"He's not going to yell at you," his wife assured him.

"He yelled at me this morning or have you forgotten?"

"I didn't hear much of the conversation. You could be embellishing."

"I do not embellish."

She slid him a knowing glance. "We'll agree to disagree on that point."

Sweeping inside the restaurant, they stopped before the hostess. "Scott party," Lucas said, feeling Peyton's questioning gaze. However she surprised him by not posing a single question. Good. The less questions she asked the less lies he'd have to spin.

The woman smiled at him, her eyes shifting to Peyton. "Your party is awaiting you."

"Yay," he said with feigned enthusiasm.

Laughing softly, Peyton tugged him forward, falling in step behind the hostess. The woman guided them around tables, to the back of the restaurant where the private rooms were. When they arrived at their room, the wooden double doors were closed. "I thought you said the party was waiting for us?" Peyton asked the hostess when she pushed open the door and the inside was awash in darkness.

"I may have the wrong room…"

The lights flashed on and a chorus of "SURPRISE!" from their family and friends slightly alarmed Peyton. She took in the room's occupants. Brooke and Owen. Nathan and Haley. A couple of people from TRIC. Her dad. And Lucas at her side. He looped an arm around her waist, pressed a kiss to her cheek, whispering, "Happy Birthday."

"My birthday isn't for two more months," she felt the need to point out.

He smiled. "We're not celebrating your birthday, silly."

Then she understood. "Oh." Christopher's birthday was the following week. What would have been his birthday. She waited for all the old familiar feelings of hurt and anger to bubble up…they didn't. She was happy. She was content. She still missed her baby, but she had all these people who loved her, who were rallying around her at the beginning of what was to be a tumultuous week. She had her children. She had Lucas. She smacked his arm with her clutch. "So this was all a set-up, even the phone call and all that with my Dad?"

Lucas shook his head. "No, no. Some of that was actually true. A lot of it. Most of it."

"You've been planning this, haven't you?"

"I wanted to celebrate Christopher, not mourn him. This would've been such a happy day for us. I want it to be a happy day for us." He grabbed her hand, placing it on his heart. "We lost him and we lost ourselves along the way, Peyton. I thought that tonight, celebrating Chris's birthday could be our new start."

Peyton surprised everyone, even her husband, by throwing her arms around him and kissing him. She heard gasps and whispers, but didn't care. She didn't pay heed to even one, just her husband who was the kindest man she'd ever known. She was lucky to have him, a fact that had escaped her for quite a while. "Thank you," she told him when they parted, brushing away the lipstick that had transferred over to him with the pad of her thumb.

Lucas barely nodded before he found himself pushed out of the way, Peyton's friends moving in to grill her for details over the new development in her marriage. He left the women to their clucking and made his way to the table where his father-in-law sat, taking everything in. "Larry."

"Lucas. Sit, sit," Larry said, waving to the chairs on either side of him. His eyes centered on his daughter. "She was surprised."

"Yes. Yes, she was."

Still staring across the room at his daughter, paying Lucas barely any heed at all, Larry told him, "She looks much happier than the last time I saw her."

"I would say she is."

Larry leveled a cold stare at Lucas. "Would she say she is?"

"You would have to ask her that."

Larry expelled a sigh. "The last couple of months have been tough on the both of you, Lucas. I know you lost just as much as she did..."

Lucas looked over at his wife who was laughing and smiling as she talked to Brooke and Owen. "I could've made things easier for her. I didn't."

"We always look back on these tragedies and see what we could have done differently."

"I almost lost her. I can't begin to even think of what may have happened."

"But you didn't. That's what you need to focus on. You're together and it seems that things are back to how they were."

"Not quite, but we're getting there."

"As long as my girl is happy," he said, standing up as Peyton approached. "Hey, honey."

"Daddy, I'm glad you're here." Leaning back, she glanced at Lucas, then asking her father, "Are you giving Lucas a hard time?"

"We were talking about you."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"Everything's fine. It's not like I stabbed him with my fork or anything."

"Well…I'm glad you're here. Wasn't this a sweet thing that Lucas did?" She beamed at her husband who gave her a tight smile.

"He had the right of it, honey."

Peyton held out her hand to Lucas. "Our table is over there. The hostess is ready to serve dinner."

Lucas took Peyton's hand and let her help him to his feet. Peyton dropped his hand for a moment to hug her father, whispering in his ear, "Thanks for coming, Daddy."

—

After dinner everyone shuffled into the bar part of the restaurant. Peyton wanted to dance and how was Lucas to deny her? He stood with her saying goodbye to her father, though she'd tried to browbeat him into staying. "A few little dances won't hurt," she was telling him.

"You're not the one with the bad knee," he said leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "You two have fun. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" they echoed.

"You don't think I'm going to come to town and not see my grandkids, are you?" He turned his back and started to walk away, calling over his shoulder, "See you in the morning."

Neither of them spoke until Larry was out of their sight. "You survived."

"Now, now, don't you make fun of me."

"I was doing no such thing," Peyton said, looping her arm through his. "How long did it take you to plan all of this?"

Lucas cocked his head to the side and thought about it. "A week. Maybe two. I think it took me that long to get your dad to agree to come. He wasn't happy with me back then, but he came for you. Plus, he liked the thought behind it."

Taking a seat at the bar, Peyton turned toward the dance floor where Owen was already twirling Brooke around. "I think I needed this, to have everyone here. To celebrate Chris's life, instead of mourning his death." She sighed. "Though I kind of wished the kids were here." She glanced at Lucas who was ordering himself a drink, smiling. "You have something planned, don't you?"

"You're going to question my every move from now on, aren't you?"

"Yes."

As he awaited his drink, Lucas told her. "No, I don't have any big plans. I thought we could spend Christopher's birthday at home. All five of us."

"I think I'd like that."

"But if you'd rather spend all day crying in bed, I'm okay with that," he said, accepting his drink from the bartender.

"How do you do that?" Peyton managed past the lump in her throat.

"Do what?"

"Know exactly what I need even before I know?"

He shrugged. "After so many years together…I guess I just know you that well." He pushed aside his glass, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "But, you know…if you are going to spend the day crying, all you have to do is ask and I'll hold you…wipe the tears away."

A tear slid down her cheek. "You know…sometimes I think I don't deserve you."

"Sometimes you may be right," he said softly.

Peyton looked out at the dance floor. Her friends were having a good time, but she wasn't much in the dancing mood after all. "You want to get out of here?"

"You don't want to stay?"

She shook her head. "There's somewhere I want to go before we head home."

Lucas nodded, setting his drink on the bar. "I was thinking the same thing." Taking her hand, he helped her out of her chair and with her arm wrapped around his waist and her head on his shoulder, he led her out of the bar.

—

"You're going to get your knees dirty," Lucas pointed out, looking down at her, on her knees in the grass.

"Oh, stuff it." She pulled his hand until they had sprawled out together in front of Christopher's tombstone. Peyton leaned forward, tracing the inscription with her fingertip. His name. His birthdate. Then she leaned her cheek against the marble, cool against her skin, whispering, "I miss you, baby." She felt Lucas watching her, his gaze intent and concerned. "I'm okay," she told him without looking at him.

"Are you sure?"

She shifted her body to look at him, grabbing his hands, kissing his knuckles. "Tonight was about him. I thought it was pertinent that we spend some time with him."

"Okay." He pulled Peyton against his chest, holding her tight against him. "Remember the last time we were here?"

She groaned. "I'd rather not."

"I just meant that we've come a long way from then."

Peyton thought about that night a few months ago. They'd spoken like strangers, talking about their daughter's birthday. The exchange had been awkward but had ultimately led to their reconciliation. She grinned, though he couldn't see her. "I'd say so. Last night, for instance."

"Ah, last night…" he trailed off, thoughtfully, remembering how he and Peyton had stayed up until mid-morning making love. When he thought they were done, she'd kiss him or touch him and he would be raring to go yet again. How he had an ounce of energy to walk today was beyond him.

Beside him, Peyton expelled a deep breath. "Thursday's going to be difficult, I'm afraid."

Lucas turned her so that he could see her face. There were tears in her eyes. "This time you won't be alone. I'll be there."

"Even if I push you away?"

"Even if you push me away."

"Even if I crank up Led Zeppelin and tell you to leave me alone."

"Even if."

She took his hand in hers, bringing it to her mouth. She kissed his knuckles, and then pressed his hand to her face. "I'm so glad you're here, Lucas. I'm so glad that we found our way back. I thought I couldn't live without him, but I can't…I can't live without _you_."

They were words Lucas didn't think he needed to hear, but his heart absorbed them all the same, holding them tight, stashing them in a sacred place for another day. He pulled his wife close, wrapping his arms around her. He didn't know how long they sat there, propped against the tree adjacent to their son's grave, holding on tight to one another—happy though they knew the next seven days would be a trial. He just knew that the night couldn't have ended any other way.

_fin._


End file.
